The Fabric Of The World
by idioglossia
Summary: With its suspicious abandoned buildings, power-hungry city guards and Skooma-filled bourgeois parties, Cheydinhal is a perfect place for children to grow up.
1. Prologue: Mid-Year 1, 3E426

A/N: Because replaying Oblivion is better than studying for my exams. Fic might or might not be disturbing. Rating might or might not change.

**THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD**

**Prologue**

The fabric of the world isn't always smooth.

Tangled is, for example, the thread of a homeless child cowering in an alley behind some nobleman's house. The little boy curls on the pavement, trying to protect at least some of his vital organs. He regrets swiping this sweetroll... but he didn't eat anything for a while and it looked so beckoning, there on the tray in a bakery. As an afterthought, he also regrets breaking the front window. Throwing a flowerpot at the baker's wife, too. And don't forget about shouting obscene words at the city guard who had caught him.

The thread of the city guard - mind you, neither a corrupt nor a violent one; just burdened with work and underpaid - who is kicking the damned brat in the stomach, yes, it's also all knotted. Back then, when the man signed up for the militia, he could've pictured himself in five years' time as the citizens' hero, renowned and worshiped. The reality has stripped him from both delusions and grandeur - and now this fucking kid dares to call him "a shit-eating bastard of a half-witted scamp and a blighted cliff racer".

Sometimes the threads just have to tangle.

The kid pried one eye open, searching for the sweetroll. It was lying a few feet away, caked in mud, stomped flat and looking like a blown up chance for a proper meal. The sweetroll died a heroic death in the brawl, yet he didn't quite want to end up like it.

It was a right time to give up and save - at least - life, he concluded.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." the soldier's boot caught him in the teeth; he spat out blood. The man's face was contorted in frustration; it fueled his every blow, each one harder than the previous.

Even if the child died, he probably would've kicked the corpse further, dragged back from the mutilated remains only by his fellow guards. Or Emperor Uriel Septim himself.

The boy heard something in his head crack. Maybe he'll meet his parents in the otherworld. At last. Beaten to death for stealing a sweetroll, a beautiful end indeed, accompanied by cracks, grunts and whimpers, and a high-pitched shriek:

"In the name of Count Indarys, stop at once, evildoer!"

The blows suddenly ceased; the orphan treated it as the permission to lift his head and sneak a peek at the unexpected savior. It wasn't a Castle guard or any of those pompous aristocrats. And, unless he has shrunk a few times during the last week, it wasn't the Count either.

A Dunmer child, dressed in a rather eccentric attire, was looking at the guard, pouting. He was standing with hands on his hips, one hand wrapped around a handle of a wooden sword.

"Release the innocent citizen at once or I shall bring you to justice." he commanded.

"This citizen is not innocent, my lord. He is accused of theft, assault and..."

"Are you listening to me?" yelled the young Dunmer "I said: release the citizen or I'll tell my father! Do it now or face the consequences," after a moment's thought he added "you scum."

The other kid snorted and then yelped; the guard stepped on his fingers.

"Stop it!" the Dunmer pointed his wooden sword at the man "The Count will know all about this, I assure you. I'll personally tell him that you tried to beat a defenseless child to death! You'll end in the most foul and rotten cell in the castle dungeons with mold and rats and dung!"

"And syphilitic cellmates" added the "defenseless child" smugly. The man scowled, but didn't try to hurt him further.

"Excuse me, lord Farwil, but..."

"No excuses, you vile murderer! If you won't obey my orders, I'll tell father and he will call all the guards to the castle and I'll point at you in presence of everyone!"

The "innocent citizen" blinked. The Dunmer kid wasn't completely stupid. The guard, on the other hand, looked horrified.

"... fine." he growled.

"That's all? Are you sure you don't have anything more to add?" Farwil looked at him expectantly. The man cleared his throat.

"I humbly request your apology for my most condemnable behavior, my lord. I hope I haven't overstepped my boundaries."

"Apology accepted, guard. You are dismissed."

The guard turned around; he glared at the sweetroll thief and left the alley.

"Thank you, I suppose." Farwil frowned; the kid quickly added "My lord."

The Dunmer moved to crouch beside him "I sincerely apologize on behalf of whole Cheydinhal administration. Are you alright, milady?"

"More or le... milady?"

"Well, every noble knight should save women from distress and treat them with utmost respect, whether they are of noble or common origin. The legends say so." Farwil looked very proud of himself "And I, Farwil Indarys, am going to be a knight when I grow up, milady. Who knows, maybe you'll become my sweetheart?"

"That's unlikely, I'm afraid."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not a lady. A sir, perhaps. But definitely not a lady." Farwil looked at him with a blank expression "Wrong parts, you know."

The Dunmer pondered it for the moment: "I think knights can also save their heroic sidekicks" he said slowly "Are you alright then, sir?"

"I'll live, thanks... ow, damn." Farwil poked him in the forehead.

"I don't think so. But fear not, most noble sir, for I shall escort you home. Where do you live?"

"Here and there. Mostly on the island, under the bridge. Near the city walls, sometimes."

The Dunmer looked skeptical. "And your parents let you? Aren't they worried?"

"They've gone very far from the worries of this world." The kid heard that phrase from one of the Chapel priests and finally had a chance to use it. Farwil was probably familiar with it too, because his eyes went wide as soon as he heard it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't know..."

"Don't worry, it's not like I've ever known them anyway. My lord."

Farwil was visibly shocked; he slowly reached out and clasped one hand around the other boy's wrist.

"Do you have a name?"

The kid tried to shrug "Bremman Senyan, at your service. Or so I was told."

"Then, Bremman Senyan, know that you no longer have to cower in fear for your survival." Farwil stood up, still holding Bremman's arm and stretching it painfully "For I, Farwil Indarys of House Hlaalu, the heir to County Cheydinhal, have decreed that, starting from this day, you shall live under the roof of my home."


	2. Mid-Year 1, 3E426

**Chapter 1**

Throughout all his life Bremman has always felt... inadequate.

Whether it was during a sermon in a chapel - he has visited it regularly, mostly to collect any valuables left behind by pious believers - or when he spent the night by the door of Riverview, it was like living in a wrong world. The people of Cheydinhal - those religious and those admired, the beautiful Dunmers and strong Orcs and noble Imperials - seemed to belong somewhere else than a little boy of mixed origin, roaming the streets and struggling to find anything, just anything to eat (well, there were other beggars, sure. At first they've helped him, shared some of their measly belongings with an unfortunate victim of fate. When they had found out that Bremman wasn't a girl, all help has stopped).

But all of this inadequateness paled before _that_.

First of all, it turned out that Bremman wasn't able to walk on his own - this damned guard, may the Nine forever spit on his name - so, despite his protests, Farwil half-led and half-dragged him towards the castle until they've stumbled upon a rather random individual. Farwil told the poor man something along the lines of "carry this grievously wounded man to the castle or I'll tell my father" and, after Bremman coughed blood all over the man's attire, he agreed to help. The castle healer, though surprised, has mended him up a bit and then Farwil demanded an official audience with his parents and, well, they somehow ended up in the main hall of the Cheydinhal castle, standing before the Count and Countess, who were looking at them with a mixture of attention and amusement.

"Mother, Father, meet Bremman Senyan. He'll be living in the castle with us from this day on. Tell the servants to prepare a chamber next to mine." Farwil's face darkened up a bit "And call all the guards to the castle, there is a murderer among them."

Since Count Andel seemed to be too confused to even form a reply, it was his wife - Llathasa was her name, Bremman remembered - who spoke.

"Farwil, sweetie, the city militia's job isn't to kill people and I'm afraid father cannot recall them at a whim without a good reason. They have to patrol the city."

"But, Mother..."

"... and concerning your new friend," the Countess smiled at Bremman "we're very happy that you've finally had found a friend of your age, but I think his parents would be very sad if he was to live with us. You two can meet here and play, of course, though he might dress a little better..."

"Ha! He has no parents and lives on streets!" Farwil's tone was a bit too enthusiastic for Bremman, but he didn't protest. To be honest, he couldn't say anything coherent. The most important people in Cheydinhal were currently occupied with him instead of doing, well, _countly_ things and ruling and such.

"Farwil, how many times have I told you not to bring home anything you find on the streets?" the Count finally spoke "Really, I've tolerated all those filthy stray animals, and you pay me back by bringing first beggar you've found into my household and making those irrational demands." he shot an disapproving glance at Bremman "Really, boy, I'm sorry for my son and his wild imagination, but I'm afraid that his promise cannot be fulfilled. Now, be on your way, farewell."

Oh. _Oh._

Bremman wasn't surprised. Such wonders didn't happen in his world; maybe they were exclusive to that beautiful Cheydinhal he had never had access to. Yet, he felt a little bit of anger flaring at the back of his mind.

He thought that he forgot how to hope, and the encounter with Farwil proved this false. For a moment there was this irrationally beautiful entrance to another dimension, a gift from the Nine themselves. Count Indarys' words have only shown that it was a door to nowhere.

He barely registered Farwil's hand grabbing the sleeve of his shabby tunic and his angry shouting. Lady Llathasa was staring at her husband, wide-eyed, as if she didn't expect such a reaction from the kind and noble ruler.

"... this guard is going to kill him! This Imperial one, with brown hair and stupid face!"

"This description fits most of our militia" remarked the Countess

Lord Andel ignored his wife's comment "The boy has been presented an official charge by a representative of the legal executive power. Therefore, he is now a wanted criminal and should serve his sentence, or pay the aggrieved party a suitable compensation." his eyes narrowed "Really, it's a shame that a boy your age have committed a crime serious enough for the militia to intervene. What did you do?"

Bremman heard his voice replying "Theft, assault and insulting the public authorities, my lord."

"Insulting the public authorities?" asked the Countess, amused

"Well, I think I've said some nasty things..."

"Really? And what might have they been?"

Bremman repeated the phrase, word by word, in his most serious tone.

The whole hall felt silent. The Count and his wife, the aristocrats, servants and castle soldiers, they all suddenly froze and stared at the child in rags that suddenly found a way into the Cheydinhal castle. Even Farwil stopped flailing around and was looking at Bremman with deep awe.

The Countess cleared her throat "Well, dear child, I suppose you don't come from Vvardenfell?"

"No, my lady." he pondered for a moment "Mr. Othran from Chapel District curses like this very often, so I kind of picked it up from him."

"Still, it felt suspiciously like home."

Bremman bowed quickly.

"Yes, very amusing and such, but you're still a wanted criminal and should face the consequences of your misdoings." Farwil opened his mouth to protest, but the Count silenced him, waving a hand "While I might not hold competences of the judicature, I shall assign you a just punishment. Do you want to pay the fine?"

"I'm afraid I cannot. My lord."

"Then, as the Count of Cheydinhal and a representative of the Tamriel Empire, I decree that you should serve a life sentence of dealing with my annoying son, at least until you realize that committing a suicide is a better option." lord Andel gestured at one of the servants "Ulpia, dear, tell servants to prepare that vacant room in the western wing at once."


	3. Mid-Year 1, 3E426, continued

**Chapter 2**

The room has instantly become his favorite place in the world.

Bremman couldn't have imagined a better place to live. It had a solid roof, a few drawers - not that he had anything to store in them - and a bed, oh, sweet Kynareth, _a bed_. He remembered sleeping in a bed, a long time ago, but those memories became blurry and distant. Maybe it was best that way.

He inspected a small wooden nightstand; there was a silver spoon on top of it. He pocketed it, just in case they would change their minds and throw him out.

Hey, selling it would feed him for over a week. Unless all this stroke of luck was only a dream that poured from the mind of a child dying on a muddy street.

Bremman pinched his arm "_Ow._"

There was also a large window framed by colorful curtains; the whole city could've been seen from it. Some people were exiting the chapel of Arkay (damn, they must've left something worth selling behind) after an afternoon sermon. In the Market District - was it in front of the Newlands Lodge? Probably - a brawl has broken out; there were city guards rushing towards the scene. Somebody went into that spiffy bookstore. A person sneaking into the abandoned building. A couple on the bridge. Children by the river.

Everything looked so small.

The boy has never seen anything like that. He took in the view, wide-eyed and trembling, until something loudly banged at the door and crashed onto his bed.

"Azura's tits, this room is so small." Farwil started bouncing on the mattress "I'll order them..."

"No, really. I like it very much. My lord."

The Dunmer stopped bouncing and looked at Bremman with an expression as solemn as a kid sprawled on a bed could deliver "If you are to become my heroic sidekick, you will have to call me by my name. This strengthens the bonds of camaraderie and friendship."

"Oh. Right. And how can you tell that I am to become your heroic sidekick?"

Farwil looked at him as if he was insane "The fate has decreed so. I saved you from a tragic end, therefore you are now bound to be my friend and brother-in-arms, until we meet our final stand on a battlefield."

Bremman wasn't sure if he liked this scenario.

"By the way, are you an Imperial or a Breton? I can't really tell."

"Imperial." he hesitated "I think so."

"Because, you know, your hair is a bit too dark for an Imperial. And some of your features are quite Nord-like." Farwil's face brightened "Maybe the whole Empire has contributed to your origin? Like, even the Khajits and Argonians..."

"Is it even possible?"

"Well, sure, there is even a book about it; the author is a member of House Hlaalu. I've met him once."

"Really?" it didn't sound exactly pleasant

"Yeah, he was a pretty weird guy. He gave me, like, a ton of candy, told me to call him 'uncle Crassius' and wanted me to sit in his lap all the time." Bremman's eyes went wide "The candy was pretty good, though. Sweets from Vvardenfell are the best, aren't they?"

"Never tried them myself."

"Really? I think I have some left..." he started to dig around in the pockets. Bremman looked at things that fell out of them - a handkerchief, an ornate key, two rusty crossbow bolts, a piece of string, a copper necklace with some kind of a cheap gemstone. None of them, sadly, was candy. "Oops."

"Nevermind, really. Forget that I even mentioned it."

"Alright." Farwil was beaming with happiness again. He clambered out of the bed "If you like the room, that's fine. Now let's go."

"Where?"

"Why, I'm going to show you around! You just have to see all the passages and secret rooms and artifact storages! Ah, and I'll show you where the bathroom is. Let's go, heroic sidekick!"

"Um, fine, but..."

"Awesome! The epic adventure awaits us! Huzzah!" and with this Farwil bolted out of the room

Bremman hesitated for a moment; he slowly picked up the necklace and the key, stuffed them into his pocket and then followed Farwil.

Just in case.

* * *

><p>"Hurry up, we don't have all day!"<p>

That sucked, really. The Cheydinhal castle seemed to be a separate world. A very big, maze-like world with a thousand halls and even more chambers, decorated with paintings and tapestries. Its paths were meant to be walked on with reverence and wonderment, not ran on by a pair of shouting kids.

"It's... just beautiful."

"You think so? It's nothing in comparison with the Royal Palace in Mournhold." Bremman couldn't imagine anything comparable to this magnificent place. How could a place better than this exist?

"There are so many exotic plants there, from the whole Morrowind." Farwil continued "Not only those stupid red shrooms that grow here." Bremman didn't mind the red shrooms; they were pretty but completely inedible, from what he had experienced "And the king found it awesome when I threw a bucket of cold water on one of those stupid Tribunal worshipers."

Bremman didn't know what this "Tribunal" was, but this whole thing really sounded awesome.

"This part is boring, let's find somewhere more interesting... wait! I'll show you the best place in the whole castle!"

"The dungeons?"

"Kinda. Come, my brave friend, let us face the peril! Huzzah!"

Farwil led them down a long staircase and through a long corridor. This part of the castle wasn't as opulently decorated as the previous one; there were no paintings, only torches to illuminate the dark interior. They passed by a few doorways and Farwil explained that behind one of them was the storage, the wine cellar, the armory and so on. They were all locked, the locks didn't look to difficult to pick, though.

"Aaand it's right here" Farwil tugged at the doorknob. The door was locked. "Don't worry, I have the key" he checked around in his pockets "Or I don't have. Azura's tits, all this stealing from the guards..."

"This one?" Bremman pulled out the ornate key. Farwil's brows shot up

"Yes, this one. Where did you find it?"

"Well, hm, you dropped it in my room earlier."

Farwil's face brightened "How thoughtful of you." Bremman felt a mild pang of guilt.

The Dunmer took the key and unlocked the door. The hinges creaked and the heavy wooden plank moved to reveal the almost bare chamber.

But no, there was something in the middle of the room, a pedestal of some sort. Farwil tugged at Bremman's sleeve and pushed him towards it.

And there, on the red cushions, two weapons lay crossed - a beautifully crafted sword and a simple staff.

"Behold!" Farwil's tone was full of pride "The sword is called Thornblade, and it's been in the Indarys family since, like, ages. It's magical, too. Breaks the opponent's armor in one strike."

Bremman has never seen a magical sword before. It had a dull glow to it. And a rather unusual aura, but maybe every ancient family heirloom had it?

"And the staff?" he asked, his eyes not leaving the artifacts

"Ah, it belonged to one of my ancestors. I think it can spew lightning bolts, or something like that. Didn't pay much attention to it. But look at the Thornblade! When I grow up I will become a knight and smite my enemies with it!" ah, yes, the 'heir of Cheydinhal' stuff "I shall lead my loyal band of knights into epic battles and eternal glory! We will defend the realm from all threats and acquire immortality in songs and sagas!"

"You've planned it... very thoroughly."

"Don't worry, heroic sidekick, you shall not be omitted from this plan. I can make you my second-in-command."

"Yeah, it sounds nice." It didn't. Bremman thought that it sounded awfully like 'You will meet certain death just as every meatshield should'.

"I knew you'd like it!" Oh. "Anyway, wanna see the prison?"

* * *

><p>There were currently no prisoners in the Cheydinhal castle. The whole prison area was deserted, save from the guard, rocking half-asleep in the chair, completely oblivious to the fact that somebody has just decided to visit his post.<p>

"Hello, Mr. Leland!" Farwil chirped. Mr. Leland's chair rocked back, sending the cursing guard onto the floor among the clatter of armor. "I'm showing a friend around, I hope you don't mind us interrupting your work."

The jailor has picked himself of the floor "Not a bit, Lord Farwil." he nodded at Bremman "I am honored to meet you, sir. Johan Leland, at your service. I work the day shift in here. If you have any questions about my work, I'd be happy to answer them."

"Honored to meet you too, Mr. Leland." Bremman bowed his head. He didn't like guards, but this man seemed to be kind and called him 'sir', despite the fact that he was still wearing old rags. "Um, is it always so... quiet here?"

"Only when there aren't any prisoners. I heard that young Gregori has arrested someone today, but a brawl broke out and the criminal ran away." He spat with disdain "These new recruits are soft as Mara's sweet bosom, I tell you. If I had been there..."

"Oh, undoubtedly, sir." Leland was talking about him, that was obvious. Now it seemed that he was also able to skin a child alive for stealing a Nine-damned sweetroll. Bremman didn't like him anymore. "How long have you been working here?"

"Ten years, lad. And before that, twelve years of patrolling the streets." The jailor grinned. "It's a good, stable job, and I've grown quite fond of it. My son wants to join the militia too, when he comes of age."

"That's very nice, Mr. Leland, but we must be on our way." Farwil looked bored out of his mind "Have a good day."

"Aye, good day to you too, Lord Farwil, Lord Bremman." Leland bowed curtly and returned to his post. Before Bremman managed to say anything, Farwil dragged him out.

* * *

><p>They took a short break in the castle gardens. The place was almost completely covered with the red shrooms. Farwil kicked the nearest one.<p>

"His son is a stupid jerk and I hate him." he blurted out

"His?" Bremman blinked "You mean Leland's?"

"Yeah." Another shroom broke. "He's a jerk, but everyone likes him. Even Father is all, like 'You should be more like Ulrich Leland, son. Spend more time in his company and learn from him.'. And I don't want to go anywhere near this idiot. He called me a 'delusional spoiled brat' and said that I'll never make a good warrior." he spat "I hope he dies from swamp fever."

"Why does the Count force you to hang out with this Ulrich?"

Farwil shrugged "Dunno. There aren't many people in the castle that can keep me company." he paused, as if trying to remember something "Well, there is this jerk and the steward's daughter - Naspia isn't that bad, but she's much older than me. Sometimes various noblemen visit Father and bring their children, who are stupid, boring and I don't like them. So, it leaves just me." he grinned at Bremman "And now also you, my heroic sidekick."

"Why, thank you." Bremman grinned back. He was starting to really warm up to the Dunmer. "Uhm, can we visit the kitchen next?"

"As you wish, my brave companion, as you wish." With this Farwil turned around and started walking towards the castle. Bremman shot a brief look at the trampled garden and followed the Dunmer.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Tune in next time for not-exposition._


	4. Mid-Year 9, 3E426

**Chapter 3**

He didn't like to visit the city - especially the castle - but he had always endured it with a fake smile. Mostly because of his parents. They loved their family manor house on the countryside, sure, but life in a secluded settlement quickly grew lonesome. The sporadic visits in Cheydinhal made Alain and Gisele Strongblade very happy, so Jhared put on his most joyful expression and pretended to be as fascinated by the city life as them.

Somebody might have found all of this interesting - who was absent during the evening sermon, which ladies have recently wed and which have divorced, how much did the Countess of Chorrol pay for the newest piece by Master Lythandas. Somebody might even liked to discuss the current prices of yarn, wool and crab meat, the possibility of a war on Vvardenfell or most successful campaigns in the history of Cyrodiil.

Somebody, but not Jhared. He was not a merchant, a noblemen or a knight. Regardless of whatever his parents had planned for him, deep inside he has always been a farmer. And, like every farmer, he didn't like to leave his work for such petty reasons as social meetings.

As the carriage approached the city gates, he stared out of the window with a dull expression. Oak and beech trees; the soil must've been fertile here. Pretty good for wheat or grapes. He tried to imagine a little farm in the middle of the forest, but all he could focus on was "By the Nine, why do I have to go with them?".

"Dear, are you alright?" startled, he turned away, only to see the worried face of his mother a few inches from his. Damn, so he had spoken this out loud after all.

"Yes, mom." Jhared managed a smile "Don't worry."

Lady Gisele frowned "Really, young man, you aren't even trying to hide your disappointment. When you were younger, the visits in Cheydinhal were your favorite parts of the year. Now it's as if you were prejudiced against the city. I thought you liked those little trips." she said sternly

"Mom, if you had to spend some time with Farwil Indarys, you wouldn't have liked them either."

"You have a point there. Personally, I'm not too fond of his father either." his mother smiled "But you'll also meet this nice girl you've talked so much about... Naspia was her name, I believe."

Jhared's cheeks went red. Oh, right. Last time he tried to forget this whole deal so hard that he almost succeeded. Almost.

His mother shot him a pearly smile.

"So there's still something worth suffering through this whole visit and looking after the Count's son?" He quickly turned to the window and pretended to be completely immersed by the view. Lady Gisele chuckled "Don't worry, you'll see her very soon. We've arrived in Cheydinhal."

Jhared mumbled something unintelligible. This wasn't going to be a good day.

* * *

><p>The Cheydinhal castle looked the same as a year ago. The urban architecture had nothing of the subtlety of rural areas, thought Jhared sourly, it stayed exactly the same throughout the year. He loved watching the seasons change; here the whole cycle wasn't as spectacular as in the countryside. The stonework, the lack of plants, all those things that made city a city left very little for the rhythm of nature.<p>

Or maybe he was really prejudiced against cities.

His father was already waiting for them - he left home two days earlier than Jhared and lady Gisele, mostly to wrap up some of his recent businesses. At his side stood the Count - a bad sign, his irritating offspring might be lurking somewhere nearby - and lady Ulpia Cosma, the Steward of Cheydinhal Castle. Naspia's mother.

Jhared sighed; it was the daughter he wanted to see, not the mother. And he didn't see Naspia in the small crowd. He tried to suppress the wave of disappointment.

Lord Alain waved to his wife as soon as the carriage approached. He was grinning. Must've been another wondrous bargain by Alain Strongblade, thought Jhared. His father wasn't a fighter and had no magical talent, but he knew the subtle art of negotiations very well.

"Gisele, my dear," Lord Strongblade held out a hand to his wife "I hope your journey went well. The guest rooms in the west wing are already prepared." the nobleman beamed with pride "I have so much to tell you, love..."

"Hello, dad" mumbled Jhared under his nose, watching as lady Gisele was greeted by the Count "Nice to see you too."

Lord Alain had loved his son in a most peculiar way. He showed his fatherly pride and affections by ignoring Jhared most of the time. It's not that he had any difficulties in expressing emotions.

Jhared just wasn't a son you could be proud of.

The young man sighed and made his way towards the Count. He greeted the Dunmer with a short bow.

"It's an honor, my lord."

"It's a pleasure to host such a renown family." the Count nodded "It's also a pleasure to do business with lord Alain. Will you continue the family business, Jhared?"

Ah, how he despised that question. As the only son of the Strongblade family he was expected to succeed his father, though it was obvious that he lacked both the necessary talent and interest.

"I hope so, my lord." he lied and bowed curtly, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible. He turned to Ulpia Cosma.

"It's an honor, my lady." He felt as if his tongue has turned to stone. Damn, he was making an idiot out of himself.

"Hello, Jhared." the tall Imperial woman was smiling at him "I'm really happy that you've decided to come. Naspia just couldn't wait for your next visit."

He tried not to blush. "Um, that's nice. I mean, I am honored to hear this." he bowed to hide his embarrassment "I hope she is doing well..."

"You can ask her yourself when we get to the castle." replied the Steward with a smug smile "She sends her deepest apologies for not greeting you personally."

It was suddenly very hard to formulate an appropriate reply. Jhared just bowed his head and trailed after his parents. The earth should just open and swallow him whole.

Maybe lady Ulpia was just making fun of him and his stupid behavior. Yes, it must have been the case. A pretty, intelligent young lady like Naspia couldn't have paid attention to such a bumbling idiot. It was only natural that he would be mocked to the Oblivion and back.

"Jhared? By the Nine, I missed you so much!"

Somebody slammed into him; Jhared felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck. Unsure of what he should do, he hugged back.

"Yeah, missed you too." he replied, trying not to blush "How are you faring?"

"As usual." Naspia grinned and pulled away. Now that was a shame. "But there is so much I have to tell you!"

"Really?"

"Really. First of all, there is one thing you might find especially interesting." she took his arm and led him toward the main entrance "You won't have the pleasure to babysit lord Farwil this time."

"Ha, no way! Did he finally fall to his death or something... ow, what was that for?"

Naspia smacked him on the head once more, this time harder.

"Don't say such things! Really, what did this poor kid do to you all?" she crossed her arms and looked at Jhared with a sour expression. He replied before he had any time to think.

"He is spoiled and always whines for attention. Besides, he has this weird penchant for insulting everyone in his vicinity."

"You sound like Ulrich on this one." Naspia frowned "He's not that bad, just a bit lonely. Farwil's parents have little time for him."

"If I had a son like him..." Jhared began, but a glare from Naspia made him bit back his statement "Anyway, what's this interesting information?"

"Ah, yes. Our most noble Lord Farwil decided to reach out to the poor, so he grabbed from the streets the first dirty child he had met and brought it to the castle. It was a week ago."

Jhared raised one eyebrow - he was very proud of this trait. What was the significance in this?

"And?"

Naspia shrugged "The boy's been living in the castle since then."

"And the Count allows it?"

"It took some... persuasion. And swear words - oh, come on, don't give me this look, it's a long story. But, ultimately, yes."

Now that was unexpected. Count Indarys wasn't exactly renowned for his philanthropy. Jhared suspected that he had better ways to spend gold, like food, alcohol and whores. And slandering his good name.

"Huh. At least we don't have to keep Farwil company." a smile crept up his face "Which is a most heartrending tragedy and a great loss to all of us. Words cannot express my grief..."

Naspia laughed quietly and raised a finger to her lips. "Shh, they're close behind us. Prepare yourself."

Jhared spun around and almost crashed into something that barely reached up to his chest - and he wasn't a very tall person. This something craned its neck and looked up with a sour expression.

"You don't seem overly grievous."

"Lord Farwil, I cannot stay sad when I see you in such good health and mood." replied Jhared and looked at the person trailing after young Indarys. The boy was staring at the ground and twiddling his thumbs. "Good day to you and your companion."

"This is Sir Bremman Senyan, the future knight of Cheydinhal and my heroic sidekick." explained Farwil. "He hails from Cyrodiil. And High Rock. And Nine-Divines-know-where, maybe even Black Marsh."

Jhared overcame the urge to laugh. The poor boy was red with embarrassment; there was no need to torment him further.

"It's a honor to meet you, sir Bremman. I am Jhared Strongblade." he said and reached out a hand.

"I... I am honored, my lord." the boy shook the offered hand and looked up.

The boy had brown hair and a plain, slightly feminine face with broad features and full lips. He might have been either an Imperial or a Breton. Or have some Bosmer blood in his veins. He also wore this expression that was rather well known to Jhared.

Life on the farm had its sad moments. Sometimes he had to end the suffering of a wounded animal; he tried to do it as quickly and precisely as he only could. Just before its final breath the poor creature looked at him with a horrid mixture of fear and acceptance and then departed to the afterlife, may the Nine Divines guide its soul. Farwil's new friend was looking at him in the same way.

Jhared shuddered. First dirty child from the streets? This city must've been a real hell for its poorer dwellers, then. No wonder he never liked it.

"Let's not waste any time on idle conversation. The Empire needs us." Farwil was pulling at Bremman's sleeve and pointing towards the castle gate. The Imperial-Breton-whoever bowed to Naspia and Jhared and followed the Count's son.

"Strange kid." Jhared remarked after they ran off "At least he keeps Farwil occupied, so we don't have to bow to his every whim."

He heard a short giggle and turned to his left. Naspia wore a triumphant smile. "How amusing. Ulrich said the same thing."

"It's because Ulrich is a reasonable and intelligent young man." Jhared remarked with a smirk "Where is he, by the way?"

"I don't know. Probably guard duty."

"Wait, wait. Isn't he too young to join the militia?"

Naspia shrugged. "By 'guard duty' I mean 'pestering his old man about something trivial'. He calls it 'inquiry about the state of internal affairs of Cheydinhal'. It sounds kind of adorable when he says it seriously."

Suspiciousness rose in his heart like peonies on the field after a heavy rainfall. Ulrich was fourteen; two years younger than Naspia. The last time Jhared saw him he still hadn't hit a growth spurt. Still, a year was a long time for teenagers and Naspia was constantly talking about him and he dreamed of being a soldier, not a pitiful farmer and...

He suddenly realized that it must have been jealousy.

The realization made him blush. Really, now, Ulrich was a generally nice kid - not to everyone, but it was really hard to be nice to Farwil - so there was no need for unnecessary conflicts between them. Besides, he was just imagining things. It must've been the case.

"Um, Jhared? Are you listening to me?"

Oh, fuck. Instead of poring over pointless assumptions he should've been listening to Naspia. Ulrich surely was paying attention to her on every occasion...

Jhared shook his head "No, I'm sorry. I got... lost in thought. I'm all ears now."

Naspia beamed with happiness and took his hand in both of hers.

"Oh, I know you hate gossips, but you just have to hear this, it's a good one! Last month this Hortense Fournier from Bravil showed up to the ball with Vitellus Donton - you know, the older one from the Fighter's Guild, can you imagine? And she wore a really stunning dress, too!.."

Jhared Strongblade really hated this kind of talk, but this time he had a good reason to endure it.


	5. Mid-Year 29, 3E426

_A/N: I guess exposition takes a shitload of time to write. Taking some liberties with canon there, nothing really glaring, but still..._

**Chapter 4**

It wasn't a good idea.

"I've never been to the Chapel of Arkay at night." announced Farwil one day. He looked bored out of his mind. This, as Bremman has already learned, could've been dangerous.

"Me neither." It wasn't exactly true. Once he had sneaked there after an evening sermon - just to check if somebody has lost something valuable there - and was locked inside by the Primate. It wasn't a memorable experience. Sure, in the moonlight the pillars and ornaments cast ominous shadows all over the place, but it was easy to ignore it hen you were tired enough. Bremman just curled up on the floor and slept until the end of the morning congregation.

"Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I've been to the chapel." pondered the Dunmer "Hey, hey, then let's go there tonight!"

Bremman's brow furrowed "Why?"

"It's gonna be fun! Arkay is the god of death and the tombs are guarded by ancestral ghosts, so it has to be awesome!"

"I think you aren't allowed to wander outside the castle grounds at night." Bremman pointed out "Besides, Arkay governs over funeral rites, not death." After spending so much time in the church Bremman was pretty sure he was an expert on the Nine Divines.

"Same thing. Anyway, there's a secret passage that leads from the cellar to the cemetery. Nobody will even notice that we're gone."

"Unless they go to our rooms and find out that we're not in them."

"We can stuff some clothes under the sheets. It will look as if we were asleep and nobody will bother us when we are asleep, I can swear on it. At least nobody will bother me."

"Oh, I see. And what are we going to do when we get to the Chapel?"

"Laugh in the face of danger, of course! Who knows what dwells beneath the altar of the Nine? Maybe the humble, faithful priests are in fact vile necromancers! Or worship Molag Bal or Namira or both of them at once? What if they eat and defile corpses in the undercroft, then bring them back to life and then eat and defile them again?" said Farwil in a cheerful tone "Admit that you're just afraid of the undead and necromancers!"

"The Chapel is locked at night..."

"We can climb through the windows in the naves. One of the guards said that they're always open. And you're scared."

Bremman blinked and took a deep breath "Listen, Farwil, I don't think it's a good idea..."

"Admit it now! Bremman is scared, Bremman is scared!" Farwil started jumping around and humming "Scared of Daedra and undead and necromancers!"

Truth be told, he was scared. Stendarr's mercy, half of the Empire was afraid of these things. Such blind fearlessness wasn't born from courage, but rather from lacks in wisdom. Or maybe Farwil just had this weird outlook on life.

"Oh, _please_, it'll be fun, I promise!" The Dunmer poked Bremman's arm to emphasize his message "I am the founder of this order and as a knight you have to listen to me. And I want to go to the Chapel at night." he paused "You get to keep half of the treasure we find there."

Now that was a deal. "Fine. To the Great Chapel of Arkay, tonight."

Farwil made a high-pitched shriek of joy and threw his arms around Bremman in a crushing hug.

"Huzzah! These necromancers better start praying to their demon lords, for tonight they shall be smitten by the righteous fury of paragons of courage!"

After a moment's hesitation, Bremman hugged back.

* * *

><p>The Castle was beautiful even at night. Soft moonlight soaked through the windows, illuminating the paintings and tapestries with a silver glow. The shadows shivered on the walls; in this moment it was possible that the hall was filled with eerie monsters instead of plants and statues. They crept down the stairs to the cellars. There was no moonlight there, but Farwil has brought a torch, so they could see the necromancers and Daedra clearly.<p>

Necromancers _and_ Daedra.

Bremman shivered. His companion was a few paces ahead, trotting happily next to the wall with his hand wrapped around the wooden hilt of his toy sword.

"The passage is right behind this corridor." Farwil whispered, his tone rich with excitement "I warn you, if you are scared it's your last chance to turn back. Make a wise choice."

Bremman pondered all possible answers, from 'Do I even have a choice?' through 'You've spent all this time convincing me it was a great idea and now you say this?' to 'Sure, see you in the morning' and settled on rather neutral "Let's get this over with." Farwil flashed him a wide grin.

"That's the spirit! Now, wait a moment..." he reached into an ornate vase and rummaged through it contents "Oh, here it is. I've kept it here for a special moment like this one." said Farwil and outstretched his arm towards Bremman. There was a small dagger in his hand; a fine weapon with a hilt wrapped in leather and silvery patterns engraved in the blade. It also looked very sharp. "You have to kill these necromancers somehow, after all. Consider it a gift, my noble friend."

"T-thank you." Bremman took the offered blade and admired it for a moment. In Farwil's eyes it probably wasn't very valuable; for him it opened a whole new world of possibilities. If they decided to throw him out - which would probably happen as soon as Farwil grew bored of him - he'd have something to cut through ropes, fabrics and leather.

He pricked one finger with the tip of the blade and hissed with pain. Useful in combat, too.

"This is great, Farwil. Best dagger I've ever seen."

"I have a few of these lying around, if you like them that much." Farwil seemed rather baffled by his friend's awe "Anyway, onwards, sir Senyan! Huzzah!" And with this battle cry on his lips he dove into the passage. Clutching the dagger in his hands, Bremman followed.

He had expected a long, narrow crawlspace, completely dark and wrapped in cobwebs. This 'secret passage' didn't look much different than a typical hallway in the castle; sure, it was leading deeper and deeper below the ground, but it was clean and wide. Maybe it was used recently.

"Farwil, umm, why is there a passage between the Castle and the cemetery?"

The Dunmer shrugged "Why would I know? It was built three years ago and was supposed to be secret." he fell silent, as if he was pondering something "Maybe there are evil cultists in the castle? Or a conspiracy of some sort? Which evil traitor would be so bold to oppose the Indarys family?"

"That young Gregori." Bremman said without hesitation

"And this idiot Leland. And this stupid peasant friend of his. And maybe Naspia." he looked around "But Naspia's not that bad, I guess."

Bremman shrugged. He was indifferent towards most of the residents of the castle, except for Farwil and his mother, both of them who had shown him surprising kindness, and this stupid guard, who was clearly a waste of perfectly good space. He wasn't sure if he could trust the rest of these people.

The passage went now upwards; the air was slightly colder than before. Bremman felt himself shiver - both from the sudden chill and in fear - and clutched the dagger's hilt tighter. He had always avoided the cemetery at night. There was never a reason to be there in the first place; besides, these corpses could not be _dead enough _to prevent them from being resurrected by some kind of an evil wizard.

Well, now was the time to face it all. The corridor ended abruptly with a wooden ladder and a trapdoor in the ceiling.

"It leads to a family tomb." Farwil informed, his voice light and cheerful "Father's old friends from Great House Hlaalu. Hold the torch." he pushed it into Bremman's free hand and started to climb.

"Are you sure you want to do it?" Bremman asked, raising the torch higher "I mean, it's a cemetery and we might disturb some spirits or the militia will notice us and..."

Farwil stopped climbing and looked down at his companion in utter disbelief.

"Then I'll tell Father." he said, as if it was the most assured thing in the world "I think they'll be too afraid to even try bothering me. They have to listen to me, because Father can easily ruin their lives." he said and reached towards next wooden bar. Bremman just stood with a torch high above his head, speechless.

It was shocking, to hear Farwil speak such horrid things without much care. Not that Bremman felt any compassion towards the militia, no; but he expected something else of Farwil. Something less selfish and more noble.

Mentally, he scolded himself. A few weeks ago he wouldn't have even thought about expecting anything from anyone. Oh, trust and expectations didn't really go well with survival, and survival was what he valued more. The very presence of the stupid, self-entitled bastard was making him soft.

"Aaargh, it's so heavy." Farwil complained and pulled the trapdoor again. It didn't budge. "Maybe it's locked."

"Maybe try, you know, pushing it?" Bremman suggested. Farwil's face lit up.

"That's clever of you, heroic sidekick!" the Dunmer gave it a half-hearted push. The trapdoor flew open. Farwil yelped with excitement.

"All right, I'm going."

"Right behind you." Bremman assured his companion. He wasn't really sure what to do with the torch; there was a small dent in the wall next to the ladder, so he pushed the handle into it. The skies were clear tonight; they wouldn't need the torch outside.

Bremman started to climb. Above him, Farwil was clambering out of the hole, grasping for a hold of some sort. When he finally crawled onto the floor, he turned back and peered down the trapdoor.

"Hurry up! We don't have all night!"

"Wait a second... ow, crap!"

Farwil reached out to him "Come on, if we make that much noise we'll scare the necromancers away."

"Maybe it's for the best" Bremman muttered, but took the offered hand. Farwil pulled him up.

"Gods, you are so heavy!" he grunted "Are you sure you're not an Orc?" upon looking at Bremman's horrified expression, he quickly added "Wait, I'm joking, I'm joking! Though, who might know..."

Bremman stopped listening and looked around. It was one of these big tombs with ornamented facades. Their interiors were pretty impressive too: Bremman stared in awe at the statues and paintings, covering the walls all the way up to the high ceiling. The tall windows allowed the moon to shine on the whole place, which added to its weird beauty. He looked at the central altar. Something was written there.

"What does it say?" Bremman asked, pointing at the altar.

"Hm? You can't read that?" Farwil sounded confused.

"I'm afraid I can't read at all." he glanced at his companion and almost fell over. The Dunmer's red eyes were wide open and unblinking. It looked as if they were about to roll out from the sockets. "I didn't have any chance to learn, you know."

"Oh." Farwil blinked twice. Bremman sighed with relief "Naspia could teach you in these few moments when we're not busy saving Cheydinhal, friend. What if you run across some ancient prophecy and then..."

"Thank you." Bremman cut in "I think we should get going."

Farwil nodded and crept closer to the door. The ornate doorknob was at the level of his shoulders. He gripped it tightly and pushed. Bremman closed his eyes and clutched at the dagger.

When he dared to open them, Farwil has already moved outside. His gray skin had a eerie silver glow to it. He turned around and looked at Bremman with a big smile.

"This is great!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper "I knew it would be. Come on, let's explore a bit before going to the Chapel." Bremman opened his mouth to protest, but Farwil grabbed his wrist and forced him along.

"I wonder if there are any necromancers in the cemetary. We need to come up with some kind of tactic to ensure our victory. I think some of the ancient formations of House Redoran might work..." the Dunmer blabbered on. Bremman didn't interrupt; he was too mortified to utter a word. Ghosts, necromancers, city guards or even random short-tempered adventurers and mercenaries - there were so many dangers out here that it was even hard to think about.

"... also, since there are only two of us we might have to change it a bit. So, I'll lead a frontal assault while you flank me from the right and then we'll try to sweep the first wave of enemies from right to left." Farwil paused for a brief second "Do you agree, my heroic sidekick?"

"Um. Yes, yes of course. Brilliant strategy." Bremman didn't quite catch half of it, but it surely was brilliant. House Redoran was still active now - Farwil really liked talking about Morrowind, especially the Great Houses and how House Hlaalu was the greatest one - so this tactic must've had some worth.

"Thank you!" Farwil looked at his friend and smiled. He opened his mouth again, probably to share some more historical facts, and Bremman made a mental note to listen to him more intently and...

A weird noise scraped through the air. It sounded like a blade grating on a stone. A _sharp_ blade.

Farwil froze. His grip on Bremman's wrist tightened so much that under any other circumstances it would've been painful. There was no time to think about that now. They had to run away.

Bremman tapped his companion on the shoulder. Startled, the Dunmer jumped in place, but turned around. Bremman mouthed two words.

"Passage. Now." Farwil gave a shaking nod. Bremman made a shaky step towards the tomb, trying to make as little noise as possible. Farwil just bolted forward, completely forgetting the fact that he was still holding his companion's arm..

Bremman lost balance and fell flat on his face, pulling the Dunmer with him. He scrambled to his knees only to catch a glimpse of a tall, hooded figure heading towards them.

Farwil's composure gave up and he emitted an inhuman shriek. He grabbed Bremman's arm and tried to get back on his feet. He must've overlooked the fact, that his companion was also trying to regain his footing and bumped his head straight into Bremman's nose.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he screeched. The Dunmer was waving his hands frantically; the tip of his wooden sword hit the nearby tombstone with a loud thud. It probably reminded Farwil of its existence, because he stopped panicking and pointed the weapon at the figure.

"Come no closer, evil spirit." he uttered in a high-pitched tone. His arm was shaking. "I shall not allow you to harm my friend."

Miraculously, it worked. The figure stopped and put its hands on its hips.

"So you've finally grown a backbone, dear nephew!" it exclaimed in a warm voice. Or rather, _she_ exclaimed. Farwil let out a groan.

"I didn't know you were visiting the city." he said in a resigned voice.

The woman threw back her hood. She didn't resemble Farwil or any of his parents - she had a round face and a wide nose, while Farwil's features were sharper. The hair color didn't match too - this woman had copper locks and everyone in the Indarys family was black-haired. Finally - though Bremman wasn't sure if it wasn't the moonlight playing tricks on his eyes - her skin seemed lighter than Farwil's. They looked rather... unrelated.

"That's how you greet your aunt? How rude, especially in front of your little friend here." she smiled brightly at Bremman. Farwil scowled.

"Hello, aunt. Your visit is a great pleasure for us. I hope you enjoy your stay." The woman giggled.

"Oh, sweetie, that's so kind of you. Anyway," she turned to face Bremman "I should introduce myself. My name is Falanu Hlaalu and I live in Skingrad, though I cannot resist visiting my beloved nephew from time to time." Farwil made another weird noise.

"We aren't even related." he muttered. Falanu threw her arms up in a dramatic gesture.

"Oh, but we have so much in common! For example, both of us like exploring cemeteries at night. Of course you told Andel about this little escapade, right?"

Farwil's eyes widened for a second, but he quickly regained his haughty demeanor "As if Father would punish me for such trivial matter."

"Punish you? Probably not. But I bet he'll be disappointed. Imagine all these 'Look at the other boys your age...' talks..." Farwil grunted, but didn't reply. Falanu turned to Bremman once more.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name." she held out her hand

"Bremman Senyan. It's a honor to meet you, my lady." he bowed and shook her hand. Then, unsure of what he was supposed to do, he bowed again.

"No need to be so formal, but I appreciate the gesture. It's a wonder that such a polite young man would be friends with Farwil." she paused and looked closely at him "I can't remember you from my last visit. Have you recently moved to Cheydinhal?"

Farwil answered for him "I found him in an alley near Riverview. Been living in the castle ever since." Falanu shot Bremman a curious look.

"You've picked him from the streets? Nice find. The people from there are usually ridden with diseases."

Bremman wasn't really sure if he liked this weird woman. She seemed to be kind, but some of the things she said were outrightly creepy. Also, she tried to blackmail Farwil a moment ago, which wasn't a thing that kind people do.

"Well, it's getting brighter. Let's head back to the Castle." said Falanu "Of course our meeting here is a secret and nobody shall ever know about it, isn't it?"

"Of course, _aunt_." said Farwil, now perfectly obedient. Bremman just nodded.

Falanu Hlaalu lovingly gazed at the cemetery once more. "I truly love this place, it's perfect like this." she said with a dreamy smile upon her face "Tell your father to never, ever hire a grave-digger."

Farwil didn't respond; he just grabbed Bremman's arm and walked back to the tomb.


	6. Sun's Height 10, 3E426

**Chapter 5**

For the rest of the world Daron of Cheydinhal was probably only a simple blacksmith. His axes were probably the best in the whole Nibenay Basin, yes, but he was just one of the usual city craftsmen. Nobody had ever paid much attention to him; Daron himself liked his work and had never complained about it.

For Pyke, however, his father was a hero.

The boy loved to sit in the smithy and watch his father work. With Daron, creating weapons and armor was an act of art, deeply fascinating and inspiring.

"Metals have their own will, Pyke." Dad had told him one day. He was working on a steel broadsword, infused with orichalchum nuggets to strengthen the blade and improve the balance. Pyke couldn't look away from it. "A good blacksmith has to understand it. If you work against them, the results will be poor." he raised the blade and looked at it with a critical eye "The blade will shatter, the armor will break. But if you can read their patterns, you can make something truly great."

And Pyke was listening, completely awestruck. It was like an ancient spell; ten thousand times better than that crap they were learning at the Mages' Guild. At least this magic was practical and infallible.

"This one should be finished soon." Daron knitted his eyebrows, scrutinizing the sword once more "It's a special commission for Captain Harsius of the Militia. He had specifically requested to add orichalchum. It doesn't fuse well with steel - the alloy is very soft and easy to bend. That's why I prefer to use the nuggets. They really improve the quality of the sword." he paused and looked at his son "I am supposed to deliver this little beauty to the guards' quarters. Want to come with me?"

Pyke nodded. He has been to the Castle before, but hasn't seen much. Mostly the courtyard and some drunken Dunmeri officials - "Hlaalu bigwigs from Morrowind", as his father explained - playing catch-the-guar, whatever it was. The courtyard looked very nice, though.

"Great! Now, go tell your mother that we'll be leaving soon."

"Mhm." Pyke was still looking at the almost finished sword "Um, dad?"

"Hm? I'm listening."

Pyke twiddled his thumbs "Um, do you think I could hold it for a little bit? And do a practice swing? Just one, I promise?"

Daron looked at his son. Pyke made sure to wear his best 'please, please, pretty please' expression. His father sighed and then laughed heartily.

"You can carry it all the way down to the Castle." he said, wiping away a tear of laughter "And of course that you can swing it, but, for the love of the Nine, not on crowded streets."

Pyke's face lit up. Dad really was the best.

* * *

><p>The Courtyard hasn't changed from his last visit. The same Imperial stonework with red mushrooms everywhere. Pyke was holding to the sword as if his life depended on it - well, it was made for the Captain of Militia, so it must've been really important. The very fact that Dad gave it to him for safekeeping made him very proud. Not that anything would be scary with Daron around, mind you.<p>

"Well, the barracks are right there." his father pointed towards the left "Do you want to come with me or would you rather stay here and explore?"

"There's nothing to explore here." Pyke_ really _wanted to be the one to deliver the sword "Let's go."

They passed by one other guard, a young, fair-haired Imperial, on the way. The man was walking with his head lowered, Father stopped.

"Hey, Garrus!" he called out to the guard "Did I change that much from the last visit?"

The guard turned around "Huh?" his face lit up "Daron! Long time no see! I started to suspect that you've moved to another city."

"Nah, I've been busy with some errands for the Fighters' Guild." father glanced around "I've been living here all my life. Can't imagine moving anywhere. Besides, the business here is good." he paused for a moment "Anyway, how's guard duty nowadays?"

Garrus sighed "Good and quiet, I guess. No evil cults roaming the streets, no assassins hiding in every dark alley, no Daedra murdering the citizens. Nothing particularly interesting. Drunken brawls are the worst of the lot."

"Ah, I see. Captain's in his quarters, I presume?"

"Mhm, always on the post. Probably bored out of his mind." Garrus grinned "Gotta go. The damn streets won't patrol themselves."

"Be sure to drop by with Vana sometime. I've got a bottle of vintage Surilie, that dry one."

"Sure." Garrus nodded "See you."

"Bye." Daron looked at his son "Let's deliver the sword."

Pyke's smile widened. Sir Darelliun and his wife have visited them a few times; they have always brought small gifts for Pyke, mostly sweets and other candy. Surely they would do the same this time, wouldn't they?

He trotted on next to his father. The Militia's barracks were in the southwestern tower of the Castle and partially obscured by the overgrown bushes. Dad has told him about the barracks before. The doorway led to a simple dormitory with some beds and storage crates. The Captain had his own private quarters, a bit further into the Castle.

They walked up the few steps to the entrance. Father pulled at the doorknob; the heavy door opened with a loud creak. Clutching the blade in both hands, Pyke curiously peeked inside.

The barracks were surprisingly tidy. The Cheydinhal banners on the walls still boasted vibrant green color, even if the fabric has started to fray at the edges. There was no layer of dust on the floor and the windows shone in the sunlight. It seemed that the Captain was a man who liked absolute order.

At least Pyke _suspected_ that the man who was standing in the middle of the room and ordering a bunch of other guards around was the Captain of Militia. He had an aura of authority around him, even with a broom in one hand and a dirty washcloth in the other. The other guards - three of them, as Pyke noted - were busy with cleaning some cobwebs from the walls.

The man noticed Daron and his son and waved to them.

"Look who has visited us! Daron! Finished my little commission already?" he furrowed his brows at the guards, who had stopped working as soon as their Captain turned his attention elsewhere "No, it doesn't mean 'a break from work', boys. Gregori, make sure your colleagues are working, or I'll send you on a patrol." the guards resumed cleaning, one of them more accurately than the others.

The Captain made their way to them "Strange. Gregori has been afraid of the city duties since last month. Doesn't want to talk about it, too. Young Leland says it has something to do with the Count's son, but I doubt it. Stendarr have mercy, Farwil is only twelve or so." he frowned "Ah, nevermind. Did you bring my sword?"

Daron nodded "Yeah. Pyke, could you pass the sword to this old gentleman?"

"Oh, by Arkay, I'm not _that_ old." the Captain grunted. Pyke stepped forward, his heart beating furiously. He felt very important right now; it was a good deed towards the whole Cheydinhal. He stretched out his arms towards the Captain, the sword lying on his open palms.

The Captain took it and ruffled Pyke's hair "Good job." Pyke smiled, suddenly grateful for the fact that blushes were hardly noticeable on his dark skin. Good job indeed.

"Daron, it's your best work. Perfect, simply perfect." the Captain was weighing the sword in his hand, his eyes focused on the blade "Ideal balance. And it's a real beauty."

Father sighed "Working with steel and orichalchum is about as pleasant as wrestling with a mountain lion. Seriously, you owe me on this one, Ignatio."

"Then let me treat you with a good drink. I've got some flin, and Nine knows how much I need my fucking flin." he looked over at Pyke "Sorry, young man. Forget that last bit."

Father knelt down in front of Pyke "Could you wait for a little bit here? Half an hour, maybe a little longer. I'm just gonna discuss some things with the Captain." Pyke gave a short nod. Dad patted him on the head "You can go outside, if you wish. Just don't leave the Castle grounds, right?"

"Right." Pyke muttered "Goodbye, Captain."

"Goodbye, young man." the Captain turned to Daron and motioned towards his quarters "So, flin and boletes?" Father nodded.

Pyke looked at the working guards. Two of them - the reprimanded one, Gregori, and some other guy - were currently in the middle of a heated discussion. The third guard was picking his teeth with a fingernail.

With a sigh, Pyke made his way towards the exit. He'd rather wait outside.

* * *

><p>There was a fountain outside the quarters; Pyke decided to sit on the edge of the stone basin and wait for his Father. He wasn't in the mood for going around the Castle, even though it looked really nice.<p>

He poked the surface of the water with one finger. Cold; just about the same temperature that Father usually used to temper the steel. It was truly fascinating, to look at the metal bars and nuggets, observing how they were brought to life and given a new form.

In Pyke's eyes his father had the perfect life - a wonderful and rewarding work, a nice house, a beautiful wife. And - as he sometimes liked to think - a good son. It was unimaginable, really, how could anyone cast such things aside and desire something else. Take those adventurers, for example. No place to call their own, nobody to turn to in times of need...

Pyke raised his head. Something was happening in the courtyard. The faint echoes of a quarrel reached his ears.

"... and never show yourself here again, you netch shit! How do you even DARE..." and then another voice, deeper, mumbling something indistinct "I'm telling Mother! Now! You n'wah peasant!"

Curious, Pyke left his post and crept towards the source of sound. He peered over the thick bushes to see a most peculiar scene.

A Dunmer child, dressed in fine velvets and brocades, was shouting at a tall Breton wearing something akin to a guards' uniform. The kid's was angry; so angry that the redness of his face showed through the grey skin. Another kid - Imperial? Pyke wasn't sure. - was standing behind the Dunmer, tugging at his sleeve. He was probably trying to calm down his companion, but without much success.

"Lord Farwil, please, refrain from using insults." the pseudo-guard was trying to keep his composure "I should be on my way, if you will excuse me."

Pyke's eyes widened. Farwil? This screaming brat was the Count's son?

"No! Stop, you scum! I wasn't finished!"

"A minute ago you've ordered me to leave the Castle grounds and I only wished to heed your command." the not-guard sighed "With rulers like these, Cheydinhal is doomed to fall."

The Dunmer almost choked on his own breath. He sprang forward, obviously with the intent of murdering the taller man. His companion ran after him and grabbed his arms from behind, restraining him.

"Seriously, Farwil, let him go!" he groaned

"He has slandered the good name of the Indarys family!" Farwil was livid with anger "I'll tear out his eyes, dismember him and..."

"Why do you care about his opinion? He's just a fucking guard. Almost." the Imperial-Breton-or so sneered at the other man "Fuck this guy and fuck the whole Militia."

The Dunmer seemed unconvinced, but stopped thrashing and now only glared at the almost-guard. The tall Breton nodded at Farwil's friend.

"Thanks, um... thank you." the man said "I shall now take my leave. Lord Farwil." he bowed and walked away.

Farwil was calmer now. His skin was still reddish and his breathing heavy, but at least he stopped spewing curses and insults.

"If this jerk interrupts me once more, I'll have him jailed." he said to his friend. "Why'd you let him go?"

"I don't want to go to jail because of this. Besides, I think he meant well."

"He didn't!" shrieked Farwil "Bremman, stop defending him!"

"I'm not defending him, just pointing out that he was only trying to correct your sword stance. You were the one to lash out at him."

"Duh, it's because I'm much more skilled than this Militia peasant. I'm going to be a knight, while he's gonna end up sweeping the streets." the Dunmer spat and looked around. His gaze suddenly fixed at Pyke's hiding place. Red eyes narrowed. "You. Redguard. Don't pretend you're somewhere else. Who are you?"

"Pyke, the blacksmith's son." he clambered out of the bushes and brushed off the leaves from his clothes. After a moment of pondering, he also bowed. It was the Count's son after all. "At your service, my lord."

Farwil seemed pleased enough with this introduction "I am Farwil Indarys of House Hlaalu, the future Count of Cheydinhal, and this is my noble friend and sidekick, Sir Bremman Senyan." he motioned towards the other boy. Bremman smiled at Pyke and nodded.

"What brings you here, Sir Pyke?" the Dunmer continued. Being called 'Sir' was flattering, Pyke concluded.

"My father had to deliver his last work to the Captain of city guards. A steel broadsword strengthened by orichalchum nuggets, tempered with water infused with blackberry pulp to enhance its endurance." he recited on one breath. Farwil's eyes grew wide.

"Working with orichalchum needs much skill." he said and Pyke was sure that he sounded impressed. Only a little bit, but yes, impressed. "It was mentioned in 'The Breton Philosophy of War'. Never seen an orichalchum weapon before."

"Yeah, they're pretty uncommon in Cyrodiil." Pyke was confused. How could this polite and intelligent Dunmer be the same person as the irritating, self-centered kid from before? Unimaginable.

"Maybe I'll tell Father to order something from your father's smithy." he pondered it for a moment "No, wait, I already have Thornblade. Hey, Bremman, want something from Sir Pyke's father's smithy?"

"The Count won't allow it, I'm afraid." Bremman was rubbing the nape of his neck, obviously startled by the very offer. Farwil frowned.

"Maybe for your birthday? When do you even have birthday, anyway?"

Bremman shrugged "How would I know?"

"Hm. My birthday is next month. Under the birthsign of the Warrior, which sounds awesome. Wanna share birthdays?"

"Sure."

Farwil was bouncing with joy "That's great, my heroic sidekick! It's as if fate has brought us together! Come on, we must tell Mother." he turned to Pyke once more "Excuse us, but we must depart. It was an honor meeting you, Sir Pyke. Let us meet again." and with these words, he stomped away.

"Goodbye." Bremman quickly bowed his head and followed Farwil in a hurry.

Pyke stayed in the same place and watched them depart. He didn't know what to think. Talking with Farwil Indarys was a rather nice experience and the Count's son seemed rather kind - but the fit of rage Pyke has witnessed earlier proved otherwise. Also, who the Void was that other boy? Pyke was pretty sure that House Hlaalu has abolished slavery; besides, Cheydinhal was a cyrodilic city under cyrodilic jurisdiction, so having slaves should be illegal.

How very strange.

"Pyke! Hey, Pyke!"

He turned around. It was his father, waving to him from the courtyard. Pyke headed in his direction.

"Were you very bored?" asked Dad. They've made their way down to the Chapel District; the sun was slowly setting and the city looked as if it was covered in golden dust.

"Not really." Pyke answered "I've seen some interesting things."

His father sighed with relief "That's great. I've talked with Ignatio way longer than I'd expected and I was worried that you'll grow bored." he paused "But that was one bottle of damn good flin."

Pyke couldn't help smiling. His father really was the best.

_A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, did you remember Pyke?_


	7. Last Seed 3, 3E426

_A/N: A shorter chapter today. _

**Chapter 6**

The Strongblade farm was situated in the region of Heartlands, halfway between the walls of Cheydinhal and the Red Ring Road. It was somewhat obscured from view by lush greenery; people who traveled along the Blue Road paid it no heed. The soil was fertile; somewhat heavy because of silts and loams, but not too hard to cultivate. There was a source of fresh water nearby - the beautiful clear Lake Arrius - and plenty of resources around.

Jhared was used to hard work. At the age of sixteen he was able to manage most labors, both in the fields and near the animals. He was also painfully unable to come up with passable business strategies or hold any of those so-called 'high-class conversations'.

This day he went to chop some timber. The cowshed had to be repaired; since the last thunderstorm the roof was slightly lopsided and Alain was worried that it might collapse. Jhared has volunteered to do the job; the weather was nice, the axe sharpened and - maybe, just maybe it would make his parents happy. Frankly, he was worried about his mother. Lady Gisele seemed to wither in the countryside; during their visits to Cheydinhal she was lively and in good spirits.

He set the axe aside and wiped sweat from his brow. He was on a small glade in the middle of the forest; the sun shone bright and it was hot as fuck. No weather was as hot as a heated discussion at home, though.

Maybe the two of them should move to the city. Jhared would soon be able to run the farm on his own, while his father would manage the finances from Cheydinhal. It wasn't _that_ far away from here.

Thinking about Cheydinhal always led to thinking about Naspia.

He wondered if she'd like it here. During his last visit Jhared planned to invite her here, but promptly forgot about it when... well, when he _saw_ her. It took one smile of Naspia Cosma, one swish of her brown hair and one flash of her green eyes to melt him into a fucking puddle of elation and light-heartedness. It was pathetic.

"Come on, it's really not my fault." he said very loudly, thankful that he was alone "She's just a good friend. And has a cute face. And a great body. Sweet Mara, these..."

"If you are done creaming yourself over the Steward's daughter, you could always go back to work." another voice suggested.

Jhared cringed. _Oh crap. _SoAlain Strongblade has decided to supervise his son's work.

"I'm almost finished in here." he shrugged, but lifted the axe again "Just took a little break before wrapping it up."

His father shot him a disapproving look "It doesn't look like a finished work to me."

Jhared gritted his teeth. No amount of work done was enough to satisfy this man. Maybe if he had been a little more skilled in this whole wheat business thing his father wouldn't be so strict with him. But he wasn't and nothing would change it.

He continued chopping. Alain sat on the nearby pile of wood and stared at the sky.

"Yarn prices are rising again, especially for the linen one. This time for good, they say." he noted "We should invest in more land to grow flax."

"The soil is too heavy here." Jhared replied without looking at his father. They've had this conversation - about various plants - a thousand times before and it always led to one thing.

"Cheydinhal lies on sandy loams. We should sell his farm and move somewhere near the city, buy a bit of land and start a flax business."

"You know my opinion on that very well, Father. I assure you it didn't change from the last time."

"Running such a big farm is a great endeavor, Jhared. Mother and I are slowly getting too old for it and you will not manage it alone."

"Maybe we'll hire somebody to help?"

Alain frowned "The wages for the hired workers are soaring right now. We won't be able to afford the required number of them."

These were new points. Father's logic was sound, sure, but it was all unthinkable for Jhared. Leave this beautiful place, his first and only home for a little patch of sand near the city walls? He looked over at his father. Alain Strongblade was completely serious.

"I've grown to love this lands too, son. Don't think that it's an easy decision for me to make." he cleared his throat "But it must be done, sooner or later. Just think about your mother..."

That was the one argument Jhared found no reply to.

"Father, please just think this over once..." he began, but a loud, piercing roar cut him off. Father jumped up from the pile.

"What in the Nine Divines was that?" another roar cut through the air, this time much closer "Home. Now."

Jhared nodded, but when he was lowering the axe to the ground a black shadow ran from the forest and onto the glade. It stopped, grunting and growling, the gaze of its small eyes drifting between Jhared and Alain.

"A fucking black bear." his father was pale "Drop down, now, and don't move."

Jhared did as he was ordered to. The beast was looking at the two figures, lying sprawled in the grass. It was curiously sniffing the air. Jhared could only observe as the giant bear was edging closer and closer to his father, as it stretched out one paw and poked the man. As it hit him a bit harder, but enough for the short claws to draw blood. How his father's body jerked a bit and the bear has let out a roar and oh no...

Without a moment's hesitation, Jhared grabbed the axe and rushed at the black beast. The surprised animal let out a low roar which turned into a scowl when the heavy blade struck its neck. It spun - frighteningly fast for such a hunky animal - spraying the grass with bright-red blood.

I struck the artery, Jhared thought. Good. Last summer they've found one of their cows dead after if ran into a treestump; a sharp piece of wood has pierced this very artery in the neck and the cow's eyes were dead, so _very dead_, unlike this thing...

Oh, Stendarr have mercy.

The beast turned its attention to Jhared. A fucking shadow, all fur and eyes and teeth; it stood on its hind legs, trying to scare him into submission. Its roar pierced Jhared's eardrums, but the adrenaline was still pumping strong within his bloodstream. He glanced at his father; Alain Strongblade was lying still. By the Nine...

"I'll fucking skin you." Jhared sneered at the beast, suddenly unafraid "Come at me, fucker."

The bear charged. Jhared rolled to one side and immediately darted forward. Let it bleed out a little bit, yes, but not too long. How many gallons of blood had a black bear? Jhared had no idea.

Now, when it was too late to play dead, he was staring the animal in the eye. It was observing him, looking for any sign that could tell that he was afraid or faltering. Jhared checked his belt. A throwing dagger, perfect. As slowly as possible he moved his left hand towards the hilt - too careless. The beast noticed it and attacked, with twice as power as before. Jhared managed to duck, but one claw left a shallow gash in his arm.

His thoughts raced. Why wasn't it getting weaker? Judging from the amount of blood on the ground, this thing should be writhing in death throes right now. It seemed that the only one who was getting tired was Jhared.

It charged once more, this time fast enough to pin him to the forest ground. It loomed over him; a dark shape obscuring everything else, an incarnation of a nightmare. The bear was incredibly heavy. The smell of its rotten breath filled Jhared's nostrils. Will these teeth be the last sight he'll see?

Lord Akatosh, don't let me die here, not like this, no...

Something crashed and the bear fell to the ground with a thud. Jhared, trying to avoid being crushed to death, rolled over, only to bump into his father's legs. Alain Strongblade was gripping a heavy wooden log.

"Black bear in the Heartlands? How did it wander that far from the Colovia?" he said and turned to his son "I fear I've only knocked it unconscious. Kill it now."

"H-how?" Jhared was still shaking from his near-death experience

"You were doing pretty good on your own, you should figure it out." his father said in a perfectly serious voice "Maybe stick a dagger through its eye and turn it a few times to make sure that it reached the brain?"

With a trembling hand, Jhared reached for the dagger. He took the handle in both hands and drove it into the bear's right eye with all the strength he could muster. The beast made one final grunt, spasmed and then died.

"Look at this beautiful pelt." his father was kneeling down next to the carcass and running his fingers through the thick black fur "It's worth a small fortune, if you sell it to certain buyers. Good thing that I know someone who'd love to purchase it."

"Shall I... skin it, or something?"

"No, I'll order a professional hunter to do it." father replied sharply "For now let's head home with the Nine-damned timber." he paused for a moment "And... Jhared?"

"Yes?" he stopped picking up timber and looked up. Much to his confusion, his father walked up to him and patted him on the back.

"Good job with the timber. And the bear. The way you were fighting..." he looked as if he couldn't find the proper words "You were calm and collected, just like a real fighter. Maybe you should consider joining the Guild." he nodded once "I think you have potential."

Jhared was dumbstruck. Ring the bells and light the candles, his father has praised him. He really wasn't sure what to say in this situation, so he settled on "Um. Thank you, dad.".

He found no other words, so he picked up the remaining timber and followed Alain Strongblade home.


	8. Last Seed 17, 3E426

_A/N: I feel obliged to warn you: I'll be introducing OCs in the future. I'm sure some of you know, why. _

_I also hope you'll like some of them a little bit._

**Chapter 7**

They were watching a leaving carriage, smaller with every passing second and slowly obscured by the cloud of dust. When it completely vanished from view, Farwil sighed with relief.

"Vivec's balls, at last. Not that I dislike her, but she's creepy."

That was true. True enough for Bremman to be afraid of asking: "So what's the deal with lady Falanu? Is she really your aunt?" before. Now was his chance.

Farwil shrugged "Not by blood. But we're from the same Great House, so it kinda counts." he paused "Falanu is a close relative of Queen Barenziah. Father says that it's pretty useful to be in contact with the most important people in our House."

"Then what is she doing in Skingrad, of all places?"

Farwil walked to the bed and plopped down on it "Sent here by her family. She committed some horrible crime in Morrowind and had to flee. Something to do with the dead." he had noticed Bremman's horrified expression "I've asked her once if she was a necromancer and she replied with something like 'No, quite the other way around'."

Bremman scratched his head and pondered all possible scenarios "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, I know. But we are affiliated with House Hlaalu, so she sometimes visits us. And Mother enjoys her company. That's strange, though, but as long as she is happy..."

Bremman didn't quite catch the last bit "What's so strange?"

"That she and Mother are friends, with Mother being a Redoran and all..."

"A Redoran? Really?" from what Bremman gathered, the Great Houses of Morrowind weren't in the most amiable relations. Why would anyone marry their political opponent?

"Mhm. It had something to do with an alliance between the Houses, but it didn't really work. Then Father was appointed the next count of Cheydinhal, so Mother traveled with him to Cyrodiil and that's the story." he rolled over to the side of the bed and looked at Bremman "I'm bored. And it's a shame that my bear ran away during the transport."

The bear was supposed to be Falanu's present for Farwil's birthday. It all started with a weird story she had told them: Bremman wasn't really paying attention, but the tale had something to do with the Vivec Arena, a black bear and a pile of corpses. Farwil found the story fascinating and demanded that for his birthday the story shall be recreated, with a live black bear and the Fighters' Guild as warriors (Bremman suggested the Militia, but the Count didn't want to listen to him). Falanu agreed to provide the bear. The beast was caught near Chorrol and transported down the Red Ring Road, but it managed to run away somewhere around Aleswell. Both Farwil and Falanu were heartbroken.

Maybe it was for the best, really.

"I want to go to Riverview." Farwil began "Father visits it every week and comes back suspiciously happy. I want to know what is in there."

"Um, I don't mean to be rude, but.. you know, probably wine and... ladies."

Farwil looked at him with a curious expression "Nah, he wears a different expression than that. Less of the 'Look at me, I'm the Count of Cheydinhal' and more of 'Look at me, I'm the fucking ruler of the world'."

Bremman was shocked "Wait, what?"

"I overheard Ulene saying something like that." That wasn't surprising. Ulene was the Castle healer and one of the harshest, least pleasant people that Bremman has ever met. Since he grew up among thieves and beggars, it really was an achievement.

Riverview didn't sound appealing. The memories of his near-death in the back alley behind the residence were still fresh. Also, the doorkeeper was an Orc and Bremman didn't want to be bludgeoned to death by an angry Orc with a hammer. Neither did he want to see Farwil meet this horrible, horrible fate.

"We should go to Riverview at the day of the party, it would be more interesting." he suggested "Maybe today we'll go to the Mages' Guild instead? They might have something valuable in there."

Farwil jumped off the bed, suddenly rejuvenated "Ha, that's a great idea, my noble friend! Let's go! Huzzah!"

* * *

><p>The Cheydinhal Mages' Guild was a big building with the entrance hidden beneath a small arcade. The most extraordinary part of the facade - the great wheel window just above the front door - was strangely dark and didn't reflect light. Bremman thought that it looked almost sad.<p>

"Do you think it might be a magic window?" he asked Farwil. The other boy just shrugged.

"Nope, rather dirty. I've heard that some of the mages in the Guild are so absorbed in their studies that their quarters look like pigsties. They live among the rotting food and their own shit and dead animals."

Bremman wanted to say something along the lines of 'If you didn't have an army of servants your room would've looked the same.', but he bit his tongue. Sure, Farwil didn't care about his surroundings, but his room wasn't the cleanest one either. For example, he has recently ran out of space to store silverware and jewelry he had 'found' during his escapades with Farwil.

Maybe he should hide them in Farwil's room. Nobody would even suspect him...

"Let's spy on the mages!" the Dunmer was pointing towards the back entrance "We should hide in the bushes and witness the horrible acts they perform when the watchful eye of justice looks elsewhere!"

Bremman nodded. The bushes at the back door of the Mages' Guild held some mildly pleasant memories for him. They were the best place to sleep in the summer and the small well had clear - and very, very tasty - water.

They didn't have to wait long.

A drunken Breton stumbled out of the Guild, trying not to lose his footing. He crawled up to the well and threw up beside it.

"By Julianos, I'm never mixing mead with the fucking potion of endurance again." he spat out, coughing and drawing ragged breaths "I'll kill this Nine-damned Bosmer, I swear. 'You'll get it up in no time'. Load of crap."

"Sounds weird. What is he talking about?" whispered Farwil

Bremman shook his head "No idea."

The man returned to a standing position by clinging to the well. Shaking legs barely supported his frame; the fingers gripping the stone basin were almost white. He looked into the water, then briefly surveyed his surroundings and - with a smug smile - unlaced his trousers.

"Hah, look, he's peeing in the water!" an amused whisper came from the left. Bremman suddenly felt nauseous. Have the guild members _always_ treated this place as a privy? How many times did he... ugh, no.

The man pulled his pants up with a satisfied groan. "Now to find the fucker." he announced and stumbled away in the approximate direction of the Chapel District.

"This guy was completely drunk and it's not even noon. The Mages' Guild must be a fun place." Farwil observed. "Maybe when I become the Count I won't evict them from the city after all."

"Maybe you should. People want to drink clear water."

"Look, another one!" Farwil pointed at the door. They hid deeper in the bushes. Moments later, a pair of Altmers - a man and a woman - walked out the building, embracing and laughing. They were obviously having a good time.

They were also stark naked.

Bremman felt a blush creeping up his face. It wasn't the first time he had seen people without their clothes on, sure, but never _like that_. Sweet Mara...

"We should stop having sex in the basement, Ori, they'll notice... hey, that tickles!" the lady giggled when this Ori started doing something... weird. It looked as if he was trying to bite a hole in her neck, but the woman wasn't screaming in pain.

"Stop worrying, love." he said when he finally stopped... doing that "I don't want to see these pretty eyebrows furrowed" Ori tickled the base of her nose. "Now, this grass looks nice and soft, doesn't it?" The lady raised her hands and buried them in his hair.

"Not here." she said with a false reprimand in her tone "At least not in the light of day."

"Ah, Eilonwy, why must you wound me so?" Ori put a hand on his heart for dramatic emphasis "Morpane's quarters, then? I think I've heard him leaving a few moments ago."

Eilonwy threw herself on her partner "Oooh, let's do this!" she dragged Ori to the entrance. They vanished in the entrance, making strange noises, somewhat slurping.

From Bremman's left came an excited whisper "Did you see those tits?"

"It was impossible not to see them." Bremman cleared his throat "Anyway, we should get going. I don't want to see..."

The door creaked and yet another person went out to the courtyard. Both of them instantly fell silent.

It was also an Altmer, dressed - thank the Nine - in all black. He was clenching his fists; one brown eye was contorted in some kind of a spasm. On wobbling legs, the man walked to the well and leaned heavily on the stone wall.

"These simple, obtuse Imperial slaves. I'll make them pay." he hissed. His tone sent unpleasant shivers down Bremman's spine "Drown every single one of them, with this wretched city and guild as an example."

Bremman felt the bushes shift; he looked in Farwil's direction. The Dunmer was ready to leap forward and attack the wizard at any moment. Bremman moved over to him, trying to make no sound, and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't even think about it." he whispered to Farwil's ear, his voice barely audible. Farwil was shaking with fury, but nodded and stayed in the hideaway.

The Altmer took something out of his pocket. The small object gleamed in sunshine; it was an ebony signet ring. It was surrounded by a dim purple light. Bremman's eyes widened.

"Let's start with the fresh blood." the man tossed the ring down. It hit the water with a very loud splash. "Recommendation _my ass._"

He turned away and walked into the building. Both Bremman and Farwil jumped out of the bushes.

"He's going straight to the jail!" Farwil exclaimed "Nobody threatens _my city. _We have to report this to the authorities." he paused "Wait, I'm an authority too. Does it count?"

Bremman had other things on his mind. "Did you see this glow? That ring was magical. We should retrieve it." he was looking longingly towards the well. Farwil snorted.

"You want to go in there after that guy has pissed in it? Heh." he said "And we have to tell Father about this mage in black. We must dispose of the threat before it actually starts to be threatening, as the Telvanni saying goes."

Bremman paused. Oh, well. This whole affair with the suspicious mage and that Altmer couple made him forget about this very important detail. Fucking Breton, pissing in the water supplies. May he never 'get it up', whatever it meant.

"Maybe some other time." he hoped that the Altmer mage wouldn't change his mind and retrieve the ring. It would be a real shame.

* * *

><p>Something has waken him up. Yawning, Bremman tried to identify the sound. Knocking.<p>

He stared at the door, confused. Farwil? No, impossible; at this hour he was probably snoring, deep in his sleep. Besides, he never knocked, just burst in. Another visitor? At this hour? No, it was just his imagination. He turned over and decided to go back to sleep.

"May I come in?" a soft voice asked. Bremman identified the visitor as Llathasa Indarys, decided that it was just a dream and buried his head in the pillow. "Are you asleep?" the voice continued. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes and replied "I'm not sure. Probably yes, my lady."

The door opened and the Countess of Cheydinhal stepped into his room. She was dressed in a heavy robe with a floral pattern; in her right hand she held a lit candle.

Still half asleep, Bremman tried to clamber out of his bed to properly greet the guest, but the Countess waved at him "No need for that." She sat at the side of Bremman's bed and fell silent.

He didn't know what to think. Feeling too shy to speak, he just sat and stared at lady Llathasa. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, the woman groaned.

"By sweet Almalexia, boy, don't stare at me like that." Bremman averted his eyes. The Countess cleared her throat "I haven't found time to do this before, but I wish to thank you. Farwil is very brash and loud, but he's a good boy and it pained me greatly when he didn't want to play with other children of his age. Thanks for keeping him company."

She leaned in as if she was trying to hug him, but then she remembered about the candle in her hand and tilted away. Her red eyes narrowed.

"I don't know what have you been through on these streets. I'm afraid I cannot even imagine it. Andel is dumb enough to think that this city is Azura's fucking Moonshadow and turns a blind eye to all this vile corruption." she stared at the wall "Go on, tell me something about your life there."

Bremman shrugged "There's not much to say, my lady. Knowing where to go and whom to avoid mattered the most. Nothing particularly bad happened to me, at least until that guard... I've heard some things, though. From the houses..." he stopped and looked at the Countess. She nodded.

"They say that the absolute worst happens behind closed doors." Llathasa Indarys spared him a glance "During all those years here I've come to love the city but hate the people. I wish I could travel with Farwil to Ald'ruhn and show him Redoran morality instead of the Hlaalu one."

Bremman ignored the obvious question 'What is Ald'ruhn?' - he assumed that it was Llathasa's hometown or some kind of an awesome Redoran stronghold or maybe both - and asked about something else, something that didn't seem right: "Why can't you do this?"

"Technically, I could. We even have a nice manor in the Ashlands." she admitted "But I can't let Andel gather too much power over Cheydinhal. By the time we got back, the city would be in ruins. That man's not fit to be a Count."

Bremman felt bemused. When the Count and the Countess were together, they behaved like a family. Always smiling and exchanging affectionate gestures; always acting with mutual respect. Yet now, lady Indarys has basically called her husband an idiot and said that he's a crappy ruler. Did they always badmouth themselves behind their backs? Like... since they got married?

Bremman felt his head spin. Fucking Morrowind and their complicated politics. Lady Llathasa has probably noticed it; she reached out and slightly ruffled Bremman's hair.

"Ah, I think I have troubled you enough, child. Let me express my gratitude once more." she bowed her head slightly "Sleep well." the Countess of Cheydinhal stood up and left the room in silence. There was nothing that could prove it real; nothing to ensure him that yes, lady Llathasa Indarys has come to him in the middle of the night. It all could've been a dream.

Still, Bremman couldn't fall asleep that night.


	9. Hearthfire 23, 3E426

_A/N: Will come up with a better cover in the nearest future._

**Chapter 8**

'An appointment with the local leader of Fighters' Guild' meant 'a visit to this fucking city'. Still, Alain Strongblade has insisted on it, so Jhared decided to go anyway. Most of the crops were already collected and that little work that was left could be handled by the hired workers - the bearskin was worth a small fortune. At least he had a chance to meet Naspia and didn't have to spend time with the Indarys family. It couldn't have been so bad.

He had parted with Alain by the western gate. His father had some business with the Count; Jhared really didn't want to go in the direction of the Castle. The guildhall was pretty close to the gate - a big work of stone and wood, adorned with some purple accents. The front door were flanked by two red banners - the trademark swords-and-shield of the Guild. Jhared looked around and tugged at the knob. The entrance to the Guild now stood wide open.

Someone moved into the front hall - an Imperial man in a set of steel armor. He grinned at Jhared.

"Oh, you must be the new recruit." Jhared opened his mouth to precise that he wasn't a recruit yet "The local head will speak with you in a moment. Just wait upstairs with the rest of the fresh blood." He gestured toward the staircase. Jhared thanked him and began his ascent to the new possibilities, as his father would've phrased this. Something else came to his attention; a small blink of light in a corner of his eye. Startled, he looked back, right through the window.

And it took his breath away.

The Cheydinhal Fighters' Guild was situated in the Market District, not far from the riverbank. Jhared, who didn't care for city landscapes, had to admit that the view from the guildhall was magnificent. The river shone in the sunlight; the small ripples on the water reflected in the stained-glass windows of the Great Chapel of Arkay. There was something extraordinary about this marriage of nature and architecture, separate but entwined. Even Jhared had to reluctantly agree: it looked spectacular.

He continued on, finally reaching the first floor. He looked around. The interior was sparsely decorated, but functional - chairs and tables with basic utensils, a few beds in the adjacent room. There were no decorations, save for some potted plants. Someone was sitting on a bench; a fair-haired Nord in a slightly rusted chainmail, with a sword strapped to his belt. He was probably a few years older than Jhared. The stranger looked at Jhared and nodded.

"Hello, fellow guildmate!" he said with a thick accent "The name's Keld. Keld Of-The-Isles, as they call me here. Nice to meet you."

Jhared shook his head "Jhared Strongblade. I'm not a guild member yet." he added. Keld waved at him, cracking a smile.

"Neither am I. Yet. I hope they'll let me in, though." he sighed "Hard to make a living when your family tosses at you some relatives you never knew you had. No more helping at the vineyard, I guess."

"You worked at the vineyard?"

"Mhm. The one owned by miss Tamika, near Skingrad. I was there every Mid-Year and Frostfall. A pretty satisfying job, I must say. I'll miss working there." Keld looked at Jhared "Eh, nevermind. I must've bored you to Oblivion."

"Not really. I live on the farm." he smiled "I understand the sentiment."

"Must be nice. I envy you so much. Anyway," the Nord looked through the window "I have to babysit a cousin from Winterhold now, so I have to find something better paid." he furrowed his brows "I didn't even know I had a family in Winterhold."

"Why did they send this child here?"

Keld shrugged. "Because of the climate. Fresh and clear air, not too windy." That was... curious, to say the least. Jhared just had to clarify it.

"I've always thought that Skyrim is reach in fresh and clear air."

The Nord looked at him with a miserable expression. "_He cannot stand the cold_." he said, accenting every word "Becomes sick literally moments after a blow of cold wind. So much for a Nord legacy."

Jhared stared at him, wide-eyed with shock. It was something unexpected. The residents of Skyrim were well known across the Empire for their resistance to harsh weather. The situations when a Nord was susceptible to cold and had frail health were unheard of.

"Um, it must be very hard to take care of him."

Keld smiled "He's a good boy. Stupid as a horker stew and nosy, but a good child. If he only could stay in one place for a moment..."

From what Jhared has gathered, all children living in Cheydinhal were stupid and nosy. "He'll fit in right away." he muttered. It was a miracle that some of the people who were raised here didn't end up completely screwed up. Naspia, for example, or Ulrich. What could've caused it? Maybe the climate has changed in the past few years, or the water was dirtier. The Mages' Guild shouldn't be in charge of the main water source, really; who knows what potions may end up in the water supply...

A loud creak interrupted his musings. He jumped in place; it took him a moment to regain his calm. The heavy door slowly opened to reveal an Orc in a set of fur armor. The newcomer eyed the two recruits with annoyance.

"I can truly see a bright and beautiful future for the Guild." he said, crossing his arms "Try at the Mages' Guild next door, I heard that they give candies to every kid that visits their building."

Jhared didn't know how to react. It was supposed to look different - he had hoped for some recognition; after all, he had a fine trophy to his name. He stood there, speechless, just staring at the Orc. Keld regained his footing much faster; he cleared his throat and began.

"We're here to join the Fighters' Guild. I'm Keld Of-The-Isles and this is..."

"Whoever he is, let him introduce himself." the Orc shot a glance at Jhared "If you can't, maybe you should consult a healer at the Chapel first."

Jhared heard his own voice speaking "My name is Jhared Strongblade, sir."

"It's not a sacred order of whatever, we don't 'sir' each other here." the Orc sighed "Anyway, the name's Burz gro-Khash. I hold the rank of the Defender and I'm in charge here. I also have to make sure that this guild doesn't turn into a Sundas preschool. You," gro-Khash looked at Jhared "how old are you, eh?"

"Sixteen." he replied and immediately corrected himself "Um, seventeen.". He was seventeen for a whole week now, how could he forget?

"I'm not sure if anybody told you, but any sign of a basic ability to count will be well-received. So, how old are you?"

"Seventeen." he replied, looking the Orc in the eye. Gro-Khash shrugged.

"You're the one that has slain the black bear? Impressive, for a Breton." Jhared nodded, a bit more hopeful. So his father has really informed the Guild about his victory. "You're still too young to join the Guild. Come back when you're eighteen."

"Thanks, I... um, I'll be back in a year." he bowed his head and the Orc - much to his surprise - nodded back.

He wasn't disappointed, not really. They didn't throw him out, just told to come back when he gets older. Such were the rules of the Fighters' Guild. Even Alain shouldn't be angry at him because of that. Jhared turned away and walked towards the staircase.

"No, wait a moment." gro-Khash stopped Jhared in his tracks. The Orc was looking at Keld. "You. How old are you?"

"Twenty." replied the Nord

"Wonderful. So, tell me, how many bears have you killed during these twenty years?"

Keld's face paled. "None, Defender." Mentioning gro-Khash's rank was a good move, Jhared observed.

"Hah, at least you have some wits in you. So, Not-Yet-Associate, I have a perfect deal for you. Spar with the young bear-slayer there. Defeat him and you're in." the Orc pointed at Jhared "The training grounds are in the basement. So, both of you, ready for a challenge?"

Keld looked at him, his eyes pleading. This could've been his only chance to get into the Fighters' Guild. After hearing about Nord's situation, Jhared found himself unable to refuse. Besides, Keld was his fellow farmer; somebody he have never met before. With a shaky nod, he followed the Orc and the Nord downstairs.

The basement of the Guild was filled with chests and sacks. A narrow passage led to a small practice area - a square part of floor covered by a straw mat. A training dummy was hanging from the ceiling a few paces further. The thing stared at Jhared with cheap gemstone eyes; it was genuinely creepy.

"Say hello to the Eternal Champion." Burz gro-Khash pointed at the dummy "He's a prominent member of the Guild. Many great warriors have fought him, yet he had always prevailed."

"This thing is terrifying." Keld whispered "I wouldn't go to sleep if this thing was in my basement. Ever." Jhared stifled a laugh.

"Are you ladies done gossiping? You have a fight ahead, you know." grunted the Orc "Prepare yourselves, draw your weapons, you know the drill. If I see that any of you plans to flunk the battle, you're both out. Understood?"

Keld stepped forward, reaching for his sword - a simple steel weapon with a long, broad blade. Then he froze in place, waiting for Jhared's move. There was one problem, though.

"I didn't bring any weapon." he said, afraid to look gro-Khash in the eye. The Orc laughed.

"So you wrestled with the bear and tore out its throat with your teeth, eh? Should be enough to take him down, I think." he shrugged "There are some practice weapons in the chest back there. Choose something to your liking."

Jhared, now red with embarrassment, shuffled through the worn blades and hammers. Much to his discomfort, there were no axes. After a few moments - though for him it felt like an eternity of thinking - he settled for a shortsword, one of the least rusted weapons in the chest. Gripping it tightly in one hand, he moved towards the training ground. He glanced at Keld - the Nord was focused and serious. It was slightly scary.

"Ready?" asked gro-Khash and without waiting for the answer added "Good. Begin."

Keld charged forward. Jhared - whose fighting consisted mostly of dodging and haphazard strikes - didn't know what to expect. He had to put up a fight, now, when there was so much at stake...

He dodged, and sprang forward, aiming the sword at Keld's side. The Nord parried the stab effortlessly, almost twisting the shortsword from Jhared's grasp. Both of them pulled back, circling the mat, eyes focused on their opponent. Jhared has never fought another human being before, except for some half-hearted spars with Naspia (which he has usually lost) or Farwil (which he had to lose). This was a completely new situation.

It was Jhared who attacked this time; he decided to attack Keld's legs and make him tumble. The Nord had read his intentions like an open book; instead of rushing in for an attack, he backed off and shifted his footing. Jhared crashed into the floor; the mat has softened his fall a bit, but he felt a brief pang of pain in his elbow. Grunting, he pulled himself up. The Nord was facing him with his sword lowered. He observed Jhared's movements carefully.

Jhared waited for the next attack, panting heavily. Keld didn't show any sign of weariness; on the contrary, he seemed to thrive on as the battle continued. Just how hard was this guy working in that Skingrad plantation? Did he harvest the grapes with his sword?

The Nord charged in; the blades met with a loud clash. Jhared's whole arm trembled; he somehow managed to hold on to his weapon. There was no time for a counter; Keld swung his sword from above and barely missed when Jhared rolled away and struck forward.

With another loud thunk his fingers gave up and Jhared found himself kneeling on the straw mat with a steel blade pointed at his neck. Keld was looking at him, wide-eyed with shock.

"Are you alright? I thought you told me you were working on the farm?" he said, pulling his sword away and helping Jhared up.

"I'll live. I thought you told me the same." Jhared grunted "Working on our farm doesn't require fighting experience."

"Really? Tamika's vineyard was often threatened by nearby goblin tribes, so she hired fighters to fend them off. I thought it was something like that for you, too..." Keld's eyes widened "Don't tell me... you were helping with the harvest and such?"

Oh. So that was the case. Jhared lowered his gaze to the ground, suddenly wishing to disappear. Maybe taking up Illusion magic was a better idea than fighting?

"Yeah, I were. And I assumed you have done the same." he muttered "The whole bear story was just a coincidence." the Nord grasped Jhared's shoulders in a firm grip.

"Don't say that, I bet you've done great..." he began, but was cut off by a cough. They looked in that direction - Burz gro-Khash was looking at them with mild annoyance.

"Ladies, please. You'll exchange compliments later. You," the Orc pointed at Keld "great job at beating a teenager into a pulp. This has earned you the title of Fighters' Guild Associate. Come back tomorrow for your first contract."

Keld let go of Jhared. His face lit up with happiness; for a moment it looked as if he was going to throw himself on gro-Khash and hug him. The Nord restrained himself, though.

"Thank you, Defender." he bowed "It shall be a great honor to work for the Guild."

"Lesson number one: save your flattery for blushing maidens." the Orc turned to Jhared "You. Come back in a year. And take this piece of crap with you, you need a lot of practice. Now, get going. Up the stairs and outta here. Shoo."

Jhared followed Keld outside. When they left the Guild, the Nord turned to Jhared, his forehead creased with worry.

"You sure you're alright? You took a pretty nasty fall there." he narrowed his eyes, as if he wanted to see any injuries Jhared has hidden.

"Mhm. Don't concern yourself, I'm fine... ow!" Jhared flinched after Keld's hand touched his bruised elbow. The Nord grinned.

"Thought so. After that fall you were moving like a broken Dwemer construct for a second." he closed his eyes "I'm going to the Chapel. Please, come with me."

After a moment's hesitation, Jhared nodded.

"You don't have to worry, I can go by myself." he muttered under his nose. Keld laughed.

"I was going there anyway. Had to leave Jorn there. He cannot be left alone for a long time." he had a tired smile on his face "At least I got the job."

"Visit us on our farm." Jhared blurted out, without thinking. Keld regarded him curiously. "I mean, we sometimes need additional help and hire workers. I know you're not a farmer, but if you ever find yourself in the need of a job, you can count on us. Our farm is northwest of Cheydinhal, roughly an hour's ride."

"Just send me a note when you need any help." Keld smiled "If my new duties in the Guild won't bind me too much, I'll love to help. And... thank you."

They entered the chapel in silence. Jhared looked around, searching for Ohtesse, the healer. She emerged from the right nave moments later, with a small, frail-looking child at her side. When the child noticed Keld, it broke into a run and jumped into Nord's open arms.

"Keld! How did it go?" it asked in a high-pitched voice which reminded Jhared of Farwil Indarys. He shuddered.

"You're now talking to the Associate of the Fighters' Guild, Jorn." the boy made a squealing sound and hugged Keld tighter.

"Congratulations!" he said and disentangled himself from Keld's embrace. The boy had round, brown eyes and a mane of golden hair. He also looked feminine, even more so than Farwil's weird beggar friend. The boy faced Jhared and smiled.

"Hello to you too, sir."

"Jorn, introduce yourself. This man is my fellow guildmate, after all."

The boy made a deep bow; for a second Jhared was afraid he would fall over "I am Jornulf Winter-Sun of Winterhold. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Jhared Strongblade. Nice to meet you too."

"Oooh, that's a nice name, sir Strongblade. Almost as if you were destined to become a warrior." Jornulf turned to his cousin "Keld, let's go home."

"Sure. Ohtesse, could you please tend to Jhared? He has injured his arm during the practice." Keld reached out to Jhared "Goodbye and hope to see you soon."

Jhared shook the offered hand. "Goodbye. Good luck with your contract tomorrow."

"Hah, thank you!" Keld waved at him once more and left the Chapel, Jornulf trailing close behind him. The healer, Ohtesse, stepped forward.

"Poor Keld." she remarked "It's almost as if he had became a single father at the age of twenty. He cares for the boy deeply, but there are some things he cannot manage alone." she rubbed her temples "I had to cast healing spells on Jorn twelve times today. It's only by Arkay's mercy that the boy is still alive."

"Maybe he'll grow out of it." suggested Jhared; his mother has told him once something like that. Ohtesse nodded.

"I hope so. Anyway," she stepped closer to Jhared "let me take a look at your arm..."

* * *

><p>"I think it's very sweet of him." Naspia was holding her cup of wine in both hands. In the setting sun her brown hair shone a warm, copper tone; Jhared couldn't stop staring at her. "He could've abandoned the boy, but he didn't."<p>

They were sitting on the city isle, enjoying one of the last summer evenings this year. It was warm and windless. Naspia has managed to smuggle a bottle of dry wine - Tamika's! - and two cups out of the Castle, so their meeting was doubly pleasant.

"Come on, how could anyone be so cruel?"

Naspia shrugged and inspected the contents of her cup with a solemn expression "Somebody has abandoned Bremman, so this boy could've ended up the same." Jhared looked at her, not fully understanding "Oh, come on, you have to remember him. Bremman, Farwil's little shadow."

"He still didn't run away? Does Farwil keep him on the leash, or something?"

"Now _you're_ being cruel! They get along very well and Farwil behaves better than before. He doesn't lash out at people anymore." Apparently Ulrich didn't tell Naspia about his clash with young Indarys a few weeks before, maybe for the best.

Jhared leaned back on the grass. His head was spinning; he was unsure whether it was the fault of the wine or his weariness. The grass rustled; Naspia sat closer to him. For a moment he wanted to sit up and kiss her, there, in these last seconds of the summer sun. With great effort, he fought down this urge. 'Not yet' he repeated to himself, 'not now'.

She was beautiful, intelligent and compassionate. Her fighting skills outmatched his; she had always dreamed of competing on the Arena, of a hundred people chanting her name in unison, of standing down there on the bloody sand and saluting to the gods and heroes. Jhared didn't understand that dream, but he has grown to accept it. It was a part of her, as lovely as any other.

_'Not yet.'_

She leaned over him with a sly grin.

"And the next time you're here we're going to do some training. Don't forget to bring your sword."


	10. Frostfall 25, 3E426

_A/N: Life got the better of me._

**Chapter 9**

Ulpia Cosma had a very hearty voice, especially at six in the morning. Apparently Farwil thought the same, because he was now in the hallway, arguing with her in a loud, screeching tone. The cacophony was unbearable.

Bremman climbed out of the bed and peered outside. The door to one previously locked chamber in the living quarters stood wide open; some servants were running around carrying pillows, towels and Nine-knows-what. The Khajiti doorkeeper, Ra'qanar, stood near the doorway with his arms crossed, obviously supervising their work. Curious, Bremman stepped out of his room. The Khajit noticed it and walked to him, his tail slightly wagging.

"Ra'qanar wishes you good morning, young master."

"Good day to you too, sir." Ra'qanar was one of the kindest people in the Castle. He even provided Bremman with a copy of 'ABCs for Barbarians', apparently the most beloved children's book on Vvardenfell. Bremman loved the book, too. There wasn't much to read, but the pictures were beautiful. "What are they arguing about?"

"We are preparing one of the rooms for lady Llathasa's most esteemed cousin. It seems that his arrival was hastened, so lady Ulpia asked us to prepare it this morning. Master Farwil thinks she chose a wrong time to do it."

"Countess' cousin? Really?" this obviously translated to 'a member of the House Redoran', which made it so interesting

Ra'qanar nodded "From a distant and beautiful city of Blacklight, home to the honorable House Redoran."

"Why is he coming here?" asked Bremman, glancing at Farwil. The Dunmer was looking at lady Ulpia with a defiant expression. He was too engrossed in the quarrel to even notice his surroundings.

"Ra'qanar is but a poor Khajit. Ra'qanar doesn't know, why." the Khajit looked at Bremman and perked up his ears "Ra'qanar noticed the suspicious lack of silverware in the aforementioned room, though. Punish this simple servant if you see fit, young master, but Khajit must say that the lock was picked by an amateur! A solid job, sure, yet devoid of finesse."

Bremman's face reddened. Oh, by Stendarr...

"Young master has a bright future before him." the Khajit observed "Please excuse Ra'qanar, for this poor servant has some urgent matters to attend."

Ra'qanar walked away, swishing his tail in swooping motion. Bremman observed him with caution. Khajits...

Farwil has finally stopped arguing with Ulpia Cosma and tried to return to his room. Aside for the fact that he was dressed only in a shirt and a pair of loose trousers, he had an unusual aura of authority around him. Bremman decided to join his friend in this harsh morning hour.

"Hello." he said. The Dunmer looked in his direction and managed a smile.

"Hi there." Farwil yawned "I didn't get much sleep because of this whole thing" he waved his hand at the working servants "I hope this Redoran guy's carriage crashes somewhere in the mountains and he dies a horrible death." The sleepier Farwil was, the worse his curses have become. While he has been careful not to direct them at certain people - Bremman included, which felt surprisingly nice - the rest of the world could just rot away and die.

"Who is this Redoran guy? I've only heard that he's from Blacklight, wherever it is."

"A Redoran city in the mainland, quite close to the border with Skyrim." Farwil piped up "And I don't know who in Oblivion is this guy. A fighter, I've heard. Though almost all Redorans are fighters..."

"Lady Indarys too?"

Farwil nodded "Yeah, she was a pretty skilled warrior. A few years ago she could still wreck havoc among the Arena warriors with a warhammer." he said, his voice laced with pride. "Two years ago she received some news from Ald'ruhn and vowed to never take up fighting again."

"Why?"

"She never told me." Farwil shrugged "Actually, every time I tried to ask her about it, she got really mad. And she hardly ever gets mad." he paused "Mostly when I ask her about her life as a Redoran."

"Huh, strange." Bremman have never seen Llathasa Indarys angry. She was a perfect example of a ruler - calm and collected, with the air of noble grace about her. What could've possibly made her so upset?

"I wonder what kind of person this Redoran is." Farwil began "Of course, he still deserves painful death; but just in case he survives. Why was he even sent to Cheydinhal, of all places?"

From what Bremman has already heard about Morrowind, people were usually sent here because of some horrible crime they've committed. What kind of criminal was the Redoran guy? Did he steal something valuable or spied for another Great House? Or maybe he was affiliated with the Dark Brotherhood?

"Family matters?" he suggested "Maybe he just wants to do some sightseeing?"

Farwil shot him a cold look "Sightseeing. Brilliant."

"Cheydinhal has some pretty stunning landscapes..."

"Hey, stop making fun of me!" Farwil pouted and turned away from Bremman. He sighed and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry." the Dunmer stopped pouting "Anyway, I think we won't learn anything new from the people here. Let's ask around." Farwil nodded, his eyes suddenly wide with excitement.

It was going to be interesting.

* * *

><p>They ran out to the courtyard, looking for anyone competent. Farwil suggested asking in the barracks; something Bremman wasn't too happy about. The Dunmer insisted on it to the point of cursing, though, so he had reluctantly agreed. Next to the quarters they spotted a familiar figure.<p>

"I have an idea." Farwil whispered "Just stay close behind and be intimidating."

Bremman didn't have many experience in being intimidating, but he decided to do his best. He followed Farwil as he approached the city guard.

"Hello, mister Gregori." Farwil chirped "Could you please tell us where the Captain of the Militia is? I have to speak with him." from behind Farwil, Bremman waved at Gregori. The guard went pale.

"C... captain Harsius is... curren-tly on a pat... patrol." Gregori stuttered out, looking down at what could've been the end of his career.

"Really? Oh, that's a shame." Farwil smiled with atypical sweetness "Maybe you can offer us some information, can't you?" the Imperial nodded, sweat running down his face. Bremman felt the sudden urge to laugh, but calmed himself. This was too awesome to ruin.

"You see, me and my noble companion here are rather interested in the arrival of our Redoran guest. Say, could you tell us something about this affair?" Farwil looked in the direction of the Castle "Good information will be rewarded. Weak, or no information..." he paused dramatically.

Gregori looked as if he was about to faint.

"I... heard that he... he is a Re-redoran." he replied, trying to sound as firm as it was possible "From B-lack-light."

"Yes, we already know it." Farwil said in a patient, somewhat condescending tone "Got anything more to add?"

"He's to arrive to-today's afternoon." Gregori was grasping at the straws now "Lord Farwil, please, I have a family..."

"Why, a good guard shall never be afraid of their superiors." Farwil reached out and patted Gregori on a forearm "Now, brave soldier, carry on with your duties. The future of Cheydinhal depends on it. And of our people." he added and turned away. Bremman followed, waving his arm in a mock salute.

"I thought he was going to piss himself." Farwil snorted as soon as they were out of earshot "The s'wit is all high and mighty only when it comes to innocent civilians."

"At least we know something more now." Bremman pointed out. Deep inside, he was almost sorry for the guard, 'almost' being the keyword "And since he arrives today, we won't have to wait long for the answers."

"We have to wait very long! The afternoon is, like, a six hours away!"

Right. Farwil was incapable of waiting. Even a few moments of boredom made him very upset; and when the Count's son was bored, he wasn't the nicest person around.

"Did you hear about the new painting of Mr. Lythandas? He has painted some kind of a fort, defended by soldiers. They say that when you look at it at certain times the soldiers start moving and they defend this fort from an unseen enemy. It's just a rumor, though."

Bremman has overheard the story tonight, somewhere near the kitchens. He had meant to tell Farwil about it in the morning, but this whole ordeal with the servants put the story out of his mind. Now was a good time to reveal it, he thought. It wasn't as interesting as the arrival of a Redoran guest, but could keep them occupied until afternoon.

Farwil looked at him, his eyes shining again. "I don't know what I'd have done without you, my noble friend." he said "We shall investigate this rumor at once! Prepare yourself for an adventure! Huzzah!"

* * *

><p>The house of Rythe Lythandas and his wife was situated in the southern part of the Temple District. It was of a medium size and built in the style typical for Cheydinhal. Though Bremman has found himself near the house multiple times before, he had never had a chance to go inside.<p>

Farwil walked to the entrance and knocked. "Hello? We've come to see the new painting!" he announced loudly. The door opened a crack to reveal a young, attractive Dunmeri woman. She smiled at her guests.

"Ah, you must be Farwil, the Count's son! Come in, please." she motioned for Farwil to come inside. It seemed that she didn't notice Bremman's presence at first; he wanted to back away, but Farwil pulled him along.

The house was clean, but sparsely decorated. Much to Bremman's disappointment, there were no paintings on the walls. The visitor's attention was instead drawn to the big windows, adorned with red curtains. The fabric looked very old and was faded and fraying in some places. The interior was well lit, but Bremman supposed that it was only natural for a painter's studio.

"It's a pleasure to see you here. My name is Tivela Lythandas." she smiled at both of the boys, finally acknowledging that Farwil brought someone along "The painting gallery is upstairs, in the first room on the left. Should I prepare something to drink?"

"I suppose wine is not an option?" Farwil asked, his hopes suddenly piping up. Bremman only shook his head.

"I'm afraid so, my lord."

Farwil pouted. "Then we'll just see the paintings. Do they really move?"

Lady Tivela stifled a laugh. "Well, why don't you go upstairs and see it for yourselves?" she said and winked at her guests "There are some other visitors right now, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Let's go then, my brave friend!" Farwil pulled at his sleeve with such force that for a moment Bremman thought he was about to stumble. Without complaining, he followed the Dunmer upstairs.

At the first floor they were finally able to see why Rythe Lythandas was known as the greatest artist in the whole Empire.

The paintings displayed in the corridor were mostly landscapes - yet it seemed as if each of them was a small window with its own view. Bremman wasn't an art connoisseur, sure, but the images were breathtaking. The play of light filtering through the leafblades, the branches lifted by the wind - it was easy to believe that the scenes would start moving any moment now. Bremman has never been to the forests of County Cheydinhal, but looking at the paintings felt as if he were there.

Farwil was looking around, wide-eyed. "I know these places!" he whispered with excitement, pointing at one "Look, this one is from the Hero Hill, just above the Reed River. And these must be the ruins of Fort Scinia - though I've never been there, only read about them in a book."

"My cousin has been there, with some guildmates." a high-pitched voice came from the gallery room "A dangerous group of bandits has inhabited them, so the Fighters' Guild was sent to dispatch it."

A fair-haired boy peered from behind the door. Judging from his appearance, he was a Nord. In Cheydinhal, Nords usually didn't wear those heavy fur-lined cloaks - especially indoors - but maybe this boy was a newcomer and really wanted to dress the part. It must have been pretty hot inside this cloak, though.

Farwil narrowed his eyes at the sight of the stranger. "Who are you and why are you spying on us?"

The boy's eyes went wide "A-ah, I'm so-sorry. I didn't mean..." he stuttered, his words half-muted by hands covering his mouth. By Farwil's standards, it was an almost warm greeting, but the boy looked as if he wanted to hide, preferably somewhere dark and desolate. Bremman didn't want to cause the boy any more harm. His malicious streak has been probably satisfied by torturing that fucker Gregori earlier today.

"It's nothing, really. Sorry if we had startled you." he cut in and walked up to the boy. The Nord flashed a timid smile, without showing his teeth.

"No, not at all. I am Jornulf Winter-Sun, son of Hagni of Winterhold in Skyrim." he bowed "Nice to meet both of you."

Bremman stiffled a groan. If this Jornulf was anything like Farwil – and judging from his long introduction, it was the case – Bremman had to prepare for a long and boring conversation. He glanced at the Dunmer. Farwil's eyes were practically _sparkling_.

"Farwil Indarys, of House Hlaalu." he started slowly, as if to observe the other boy's reaction. Jornulf made a small sound and stared at him with wide eyes. Farwil's tone momentarily changed to smooth and self-confident. "Why, yes, the future Count of Cheydinhal. Nice to meet you, too."

"I'm Bremman Senyan." he held out a hand and shuddered; Jornulf's skin was cold and his fingers were thin as twigs. No surprise he needed that cloak.

Farwil looked at the Nord, his head crooked to the side "Your cousin is in the Guild? I've been there a few times but I have never seen you."

"Ah, I've arrived... a month and a half ago, I think. At the beginning of Heart-Fire..." the name of the month was milled by both Jornulf's strange accent and a sudden fit of coughing. Bremman stepped closer; both he and Farwil were observing the Nord cautiously.

"Um, do you need any help?" he laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. Jornulf was slowly regaining his breath; he managed a small smile.

"No, I'm... alright. The nights here... are pretty cold, you know. I... must have caught something." he explained between wheezes. Farwil's stare sharpened.

"Even colder than in Skyrim?" he asked with his arms crossed. "I can't believe it."

"No, in Winterhold... it was so cold that I hardly ever left the house during the winter. The autumn, too." Jornulf continued, seemingly unfazed by the others' shocked expressions "Here it is much nicer, although still a bit too cold for me. Especially those harsh winds..."

Bremman didn't really know what to say; even Farwil seemed speechless. The Dunmer just stared at Jornulf, unblinking. The Nord didn't pay much attention to their reaction; he walked to the nearest painting and laid a hand against the frame.

"You know, I have been here since morning and these magical paintings haven't moved even a bit."

* * *

><p>"He was weird." Farwil announced as soon as they were out of Lythandas' house. "Fun, but weird. How in the Oblivion can a Nord be so weak to cold?"<p>

"How could I know? He is the first Nord I've ever met." It was almost true. Bremman didn't count those who he had... borrowed money from. He was sure they didn't mind it, though. "Anyway, we should hurry back to the castle. The Redoran can already be here!"

Farwil stopped momentarily "I totally forgot! The Redoran s'wit!" he spat, shaking "Nobody was looking for us, though, so maybe he hasn't arrived yet Or he has really fallen to his death. Let's go, Bremman! Huzzah!"

The Dunmer broke into run while still speaking, so it took Bremman a moment to register his words. Cursing, he followed Farwil down the paved alley. The castle wasn't far. They would surely make it on time.

When they finally reached the gate, Bremman rested his hands on the knees, trying to catch his breath. Farwil tugged at his arm.

"Look, the Redoran guy is there!" he whispered in excitation. Bremman looked up.

And indeed, in the middle of the courtyard stood a carriage. It didn't look fancy or anything, just an ordinary carriage typical for cyrodilic roads – certainly nothing like Bremman imagined for a member of a powerful house. They moved closer to the scene – quietly, half-hidden behind the bushes. Lady Llathasa was standing near the carriage, hands clasped with those of a stranger.

The Redoran was taller than Farwil's mother; and of stockier build. His head was bowed and his back slouched, partially covered with matted black hair. Despite living all his life in Cheydinhal, Bremman wasn't an expert on Dunmers, but it seemed that Llathasa's 'cousin' was much older than she.

"Sarvyn, welcome to Cheydinhal." she was smiling fondly at the newcomer "You can't remember this, but I saw you when you were just a baby, before your family moved to Blacklight. I can recall it clearly, though."

Well, he wasn't an expert on Dunmers.

"Thank you, lady Indarys. It is an honor to meet you." Sarvyn said in a raspy voice "I'm glad to be here, in Cyrodiil. Morrowind has been most..."

"Hush, boy. I'm truly sorry for your loss and Azura only knows how much I can relate." lady Indarys has cast a quick glance at their hiding place "Farwil, my sweet, why don't you stop behaving like a Morag Tong assassin and greet our guest?"

Farwil sighed, brushed some stray leaves from his hair and clambered out of the bushes with as much dignity as he could manage. He turned back and looked at Bremman, surprised.

"Come on, you've heard my mother." and in a lowered voice he added "I don't like him too."

Bremman wasn't sure if the Countess' order applied to him, but he followed Farwil anyway. They walked closer to Sarvyn. The Dnmer stared at them; his face betrayed no emotion.

"Nice to meet you, cousin Sarvyn of Redoran. I am Farwil Indarys and I wish you a wonderful stay in our city." Bremman recognized this pattern of speech. Farwil was half-quoting an advertisement for a run-down inn somewhere near the road to Bravil; Bremman was practicing his reading skills on this very edition of the Black Horse Courier.

"Sarvyn Llereith of Blacklight. The pleasure is all mine." the newcomer replied in a flat voice. He looked at Bremman with a neutral expression. That man was creepy; it took Bremman a few seconds to form a sentence under his weird, unemotional scrutiny.

"I'm Bremman Senyan. It's an honor to meet you, sir." the Dunmer bowed his head, acknowledging Bremman's introduction. All of them fell silent.

"Mother, we are rather busy. Excuse us." Farwil couldn't fully mask the nervous tone in his voice as he grabbed Bremman and pulled him toward the castle, not stopping until they've reached their living quarters. The servants were already busy with carrying Sarvyn's belongings into the formerly empty room. Farwil looked at their work with his brows furrowed.

"I don't want this... Redoran scum to live so close to me." he finally uttered "Why didn't he fall from some stupid cliff, why?"

Bremman blinked in disbelief. Farwil was quick to judge people, but this was... different. He knew the man for twenty minutes at most. The Redoran didn't say anything hurtful towards Farwil, his family or Cheydinhal; he also didn't profess his deepest respect for the City Watch and Ulrich Leland. And Gregori, for that matter.

"He's creepy, true, but maybe he isn't that bad." he started, only to be cut by a shriek

"You don't understand!" the servants have stopped in their trails, unsure of what to do. Bremman has also halted. He has never seen Farwil like this; not with the tears welling in his eyes and his fists clenched. The Dunmer was shaking like a homeless dog in a downpour, with gritted teeth.

With one swift motion he grabbed Farwil's wrist and before the other boy could've reacted Bremman almost shoved him into his room. He sat the Dunmer on his bed and stood before him, one hand on Farwil's shoulder.

"Calm down." he said and – obviously pushing his luck – added "Knights aren't supposed to react like this."

"Says Tamriel's most renown scholar." snapped Farwil. It was a good sign, if an unpleasant one.

"Well, _you_ have told me so." Bremman gently shook Dunmer's shoulder "Come on, Farwil, why do you hate that guy so much?"

He sat in silence for a moment before answering. "Because Mother was supposed to hate him, Redoran and all."

Well, yes, Farwil mentioned that before, but was it really the reason? "Um, could you explain it to me?"

Farwil looked at him blankly "Look, Mother told me that she has cut all ties with her Redoran family and she didn't want to hear from them ever again. A fucking Redoran stranger arrives in the Castle and she is all happy about it, sharing secrets and stuff with him." he sighed "And there are rumors, horrible rumors, surfacing from time to time. Spread by fucking servants who deserve to be torn limb from limb for this."

"I didn't hear any horrible rumors in the kitchen." Bremman pointed out "Unless you count 'Ulene Hlervu has put on some weight'."

"But they'll start appearing now, like they always do when we have a visitor. They all think that I'm too dumb to notice." Farwil shook his head

Bremman, too confused to think up an advice, said only "I don't think you're dumb."

Farwil stared at him, dumbfounded; he looked at Bremman for such a long time that it felt almost uncomfortable. Bremman was about to turn around and walk out when Farwil suddenly smiled.

"You're, like, the best sidekick and friend ever." the Dunmer said with a cheerful tone "Forget the Redoran, the paintings were shitty anyway."


	11. Sun's Dusk 5, 3E426

_A/N: Taking Liberties with Canon: The Movie_

**Chapter 10**

Pyke has never felt this proud of himself before.

His father's cart was slowly rolling down the Yellow Road, pulled by a horse they have rented from the Black Waterside stables. It was a nice, slightly chilly day in Sun's Dusk – especially here, near Bravil, where the winter – while milder – came sooner than in Cheydinhal. Pyke was enjoying the relaxing ride; even moreso when he thought about the reason for the trip.

It was an annual occurrence, this late-year travel. Doran had a habit of visiting his clients from the South Nibenay Basin just before the winter, to make sure that all the necessary repairs have been made. Previously he had made the trip only in the company of a hired Fighters' Guild warrior; this year he has finally decided to take Pyke along.

"You've worked very hard this year, so you deserve to relax a bit." his father smiled "Besides, you'll be running the business one day, so pay attention."

And there he was, sitting next to his father and paying attention. There wasn't anything peculiar about the trip, at least for now. He was taking in the surroundings; the trees covered with only slightly reddish leaves, the bogs bursting with colorful flowers and mushrooms. Pyke stared at the beautiful landscape before him and wondered, what kind of people were his father's clients.

A harsh noise resounded from the back of the cart. Pyke turned around. The Fighters' Guild Apprentice – some new recruit who introduced himself as Keld and then proceeded to prattle about his son, brother or whatever – was sprawled on the cart, his steel claymore thrown to the side. Apparently talking has worn him out, because he was snoring quietly. Pyke furrowed his brows.

"If we get attacked by the bandits, we're dead." he said and looked at his father. Doran shrugged.

"If you see any bandits, just smack him on the head with something light, so he would wake up. Try not to knock him out cold."

Pyke snorted. His father was skilled with an axe, so one or two bandits wouldn't be a problem. It was an ambush he feared, and that's why Doran always hired a bodyguard.

"Let him sleep, maybe a nap will strengthen his fighting abilities." Doran briefly looked at his son "It's still at least half an hour before we get to the Malenes' estate."

Pyke turned his attention back to the road. The clients lived near the ruins of Nornal; from what Doran told him, the area was not particularly infested with wild animals. The bandits could be a problem, but his father had always managed to scare them off before a serious brawl broke out. This afternoon it was all peaceful and relaxing, with sun filtering through the canopy and refreshing wind stirring through the forest. Pyke closed his eyes, imagining taking the trip by himself, as an accomplished blacksmith himself. He must have dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was the cart pulling to stop on a wide yard in front of a rather enormous house. Feeling his pulse quicken, he straightened up and focused on the surroundings. A man was standing in front of the wooden door with his hand raised in a welcoming gesture.

"Doran, welcome! Your timing is as always impeccable!" he greeted in a booming voice. Pyke's father climbed down from the cart and approached the man.

"Norbert, long time no see. How's life here in the boglands?"

The man grimaced "These few more weeks of summer are not worth everything else. These damn mosquitos..." he glanced at the cart and must have finally noticed Pyke, because his eyes lit up "You must be young Pyke! I am Norbert Malene, the owner of this estate. Nice to meet you."

Pyke jumped off the cart to greet the man properly "The honour is all mine, sir." he replied, bowing his head. The man grinned.

"Your father has told me a lot about you and the stories seem to not be overexaggerated." Pyke has never been an expert on receiving praise, so he just nodded and kind of stood there and existed while Norbert Malene turned to his father again.

"Hope you don't mind a bit work with farm equipment. One of the coulters in our plow has bend and you probably won't be able to return before spring."

Doran shook his head "I don't think so. Pyke, could you wake up our fearless guard and tell him that we have arrived? He might be interested in taking a stroll to stretch after all this hard work. Please join us after that." he said and followed Norbert into the house. Pyke sighed and looked over to the cart; the Nord was still soundly asleep. The Fighters' Guild really gave them their finest warrior...

"Hey, sir... um, Apprentice, we have arrived!" he said loudly, shaking the fighter's arm. Keld snored once more, even louder and shot up, his eyes wide open.

"Is it an ambush?!" he spout out "How many? Are we surrounded?"

Pyke rolled his eyes "Yes, by a contingent of trees. We have safely arrived in our destination. You might take a look around now if you wish."

Keld blinked, his face red as an amanita cap "Were there no problems on the road?"

"Not at all." Pyke replied; the Nord visibly relaxed.

"Thank the Nine for you for keeping guard over me, but now I shall scout the woods and make sure that there are no dangers around. Yes. I shall go." he collected his sword and hurried away. What a weird man...

It was time to find father and observe his work, Pyke decided. He entered the house and immediately regretted not asking for directions beforehand. The interior looked even bigger than the house looked from the outside – the hallway was tall and wide, with two giant staircases looming in the back of the room. Reasoning that the toolshed wasn't probably on the upper level, Pyke decided to explore one of the ground floor corridors. Who built a toolshed inside their house anyway?

The house was heavily decorated with paintings and small tapestries. Pyke recognized some of the paitings as the works of Rythe Lythandas – he went to see the small gallery in the painter's house in Cheydinhal a few weeks before. There were some portraits of – probably – family members hanging around. The women from the Malene bloodline have been really beautiful, Pyke noted, with soft features and big, gentle eyes.

As he wandered the corridors, a realization swept through him. The huge house, though beautifully decorated, seemed completely empty. There were no common household noises of people and animals doing their business, no trace of any activity in the vast hallways. Only portraits looked at Pyke, their gaze suddenly very melancholic.

He shuddered. There was something inherently creepy about the whole situation; only the knowledge that his father was there, armed, helped Pyke to fight an urge to scream. A desolate manor in the middle of the boglands...

It might not have been the brightest idea, but Pyke poked his head into one of the empty rooms. The door has stood ajar, so it probably didn't count as trespassing. It didn't look any extraordinary too; just a living room with wooden chairs and a table; numerous figures and memorabilias were placed on the shelves. Pyke, feeling encouraged, entered the room and approached one of the shelves, full of carved animal figurines. He picked one up; it depicted a roaring bear made from some kind of a dark wood. Its fur was meticulously detailed, but its tail looked a bit off. Maybe it was broken off before and fixed again? Curious, Pyke poked the tail; it moved and the bear's jaws snapped shut. He yelped and dropped the figurine to the floor; it rolled away, cluttering.

Pyke felt the heat rising to his face; he shouldn't be startled by such little things. His father would never behave like this. Still blushing, he crouched and reached for the wooden bear.

A wail resounded through the hallway.

Pyke froze. It was a high-pitched, screeching noise that died out as suddenly as it began. It sounded somehow miserable and carried within itself a note of hopelessness. The worst thing about it was the fact that it might have been human in origin. Or humanoid. Or the house was haunted and it belonged to a ghost.

Pyke backed out of the room. As soon as his feet touched the floor of the hallway, he broke into a run. Whatever – whoever – it was, he didn't want to meet it. He had to get out of the house, pride be damned. Just get to his father's cart and everything would be alright.

He ran out of the house and jumped onto the cart. Keld was back, sitting in the back of the cart and eating an apple. The Nord looked at him, his eyes unusually focused.

"Did something happen?" he asked, furrowing his brow "You look as if you've seen a ghost or something."

"I've heard it." Pyke replied, pale and shaking

Keld raised his eyebrows "Heard what?"

"A ghost!"

The Nord threw away the remains of the and apple grabbed his sword "Wait here, I am going to deal with this. Where did you encounter this ghost?"

"I was somewhere in the left hallway and I didn't see it, just heard its voice." Pyke explained "Might have been a human or an animal as well. It was just so haunting..."

"It wasn't a ghost, young man. At least it wasn't two hours ago." a third voice resounded and Norbert Malene emerged from the front doorway. Doran was two steps behind him; he looked tired but pleased. "I must apologize for the behavior of my daughter. She sits all day and reads romance novels and cries loudly. I know that the sound is terrifying, but it's hard to negotiate such matters with a twelve-year old lady."

Doran shook his head "Is Zoe making problems again?"

"It is her special talent, I suppose." Norbert nodded "Now she insists that she is a heroine in some Ayleidi epic poem and acts it out all day. One day she will be an excellent artist."

"No doubt about it." Doran turned back and looked at Keld "Good to see you awake. Did you get a good rest?"

The Nord muttered something along the lines of 'hope they won't take it off my payment' and nodded.

"Perfect. Norbert, it was a pleasure to see you. I shall visit you around summer and if anything happens before that, send me a message."

"Fine. Goodbye, friend, and safe travels." the two men exchanged handshakes. Norbert Malone turned to Pyke "Goodbye to you too, Pyke. Hope the encounter with Zoe won't discourage you from further visits."

Pyke nodded "It was a pleasure to meet you. I will most certainly visit again."

Doran climbed onto the cart and they set off. As they were riding away, Pyke kept observing the house, waiting for the sign of the wailing girl to appear in one of countless windows. He looked and looked, but Zoe didn't show up and soon the house was hidden from his view by trees and shrubs.

"Wondering about Norbert's daughter, aren't you?" his father began. Pyke nodded. "She has always been a little strange. Doesn't like crowded places and sometimes bursts into tears for no reason. Beside that she is a lovely girl."

"Have you ever seen her?" Pyke asked

"Once or twice. She just ran away when she noticed my presence. The next time we come to visit them, you may seek her out. She is just a bit shy." Doran looked at Pyke "And give it back. Norbert probably wouldn't like that someone took one of his works away without permission for too long."

Pyke's brow furrowed in confusion. What was his father speaking about? Only when Doran looked at Pyke's hand he understood; the wooden bear was still there, grasped firm in his fingers.

"Don't worry about it too much, just keep it safe until summer." the blacksmith was glancing to the back of the cart now "We have a more pressing concern now. Our Apprentice of the Fighters' Guild seems to have fallen off somewhere along the way."


End file.
